


Ouroboros

by beautysupreme



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Bottom! Dutch later, Comfort, Flashback: Before O'Driscoll Feud, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Paranoia, Public Sex, Regret, Repression, Suicide, apologetic Dutch, character exploration, garbage, heavy grief, vandermorgan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25865899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautysupreme/pseuds/beautysupreme
Summary: "You should put your faith in God, Mr. Morgan.""With all due respect, Reverend, I would rather put my faith in something I can see. Dutch is real. I have faith he'll see us through.""Men are fallible, Mr. Morgan. For all our devotion and love to others, we are the most fallible creatures and we will cause great disappointment in one another."Lust. It was a sin that ate him up; lust so powerful he willfully drowned in it. Swanson had been right to compare his faith at the time to idol worship. He drank Dutch like holy water and dropped to his knees before him every night to open his mouth, but not to pray. It was a communion he took greedily.----------‐------A painful character and relationship exploration full of smut, mush, and heavy angst.*formerly posted under the working title: Apologies and Reprieves.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde, vandermorgan
Comments: 50
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a gritty PWP one-shot. I never posted it but kept revisiting it over several months and it evolved into canon divergent fluff to soothe my broken heart. I wasn't going to post it publicly, but then I decided what the hey? 
> 
> Thank you to @NightLore for listening to me drone on about this fic/pairing (and life in general) and encouraging me to post this drabble, while just being an amazing human being.

Arthur nursed his bottle of whiskey by the fire, half listening to Reverend Swanson and Uncle blather on about their past and their notions regarding the state of the world. The campfire reached high into the night sky, dancing wildly to the song of crickets, toads, and drunken reprobates.

He heard footsteps approach and felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. He knew it was Dutch before he turned, the firelight glimmered against his gold rings. 

"Can I speak with you for a moment?"

Arthur wasn't in the best mood. His run-in with the Pinkertons had unnerved him and the way Dutch looked at him when he asked why he didn't take their deal did so even more. Two decades together and the man still doubted his loyalty. To Dutch, he was just a possession; A gun that had possibly stopped working and would be disposed of. Arthur stood to dust himself off as Dutch disappeared into the darkness toward the old crates and the broken wagon by the ledge. If the man was going to push him off, it would be an ideal spot to do it. No one would venture over to bear witness. Arthur approached the man with caution, finding more and more little nicks in Dutch's stability with each passing week. The man was on edge and he could understand but it was hard not to take his distrust and distance personally.

"Little Jack told me more about your run-in with the agents at the lake. He said you were worried and wanted to protect me...Arthur...for a little boy to realize that and not me? I feel like a fool."

Arthur felt relief wash over him, loosening his stance. He shifted his weight, unsure how to respond. He wanted to reach out and touch his arm or take his hand but he wasn't sure if it was appropriate. It had been some time and he wasn't sure how welcome it would be. 

"I'm sorry, son. I shouldn't have doubted you."

"Well, I did specifically tell Jack that. You're not less observant than a child," Arthur laughed, "I suppose...I should be more vocal with my feelings."

That had always been Mary's complaint with him. One of her many. Arthur traced a line in the dirt with his boot, uncomfortable with any expression of his true feelings toward the other man. 

"There's something else...A confession of sorts. That journal of yours...I looked through it while you were sleeping. I needed to know if you were planning to betray me. Forgive me, Arthur."

Arthur raised his eyebrow. He didn't particularly care. It was mostly drawings of wildlife, scenery and short recollections of what Dutch already knew. If not for the distrust, he would have found the thought of Dutch sneaking around, reading his drabble amusing. Ironically, the constant questioning of his loyalty and lack of trust was widdeling away at his faith in the other man.

"You...I don't know how to say this, Arthur."

"That's a first." Arthur sneered, fiddling with his knife to distract himself from the man's intense gaze. He knew Dutch didn't think he'd be upset. It was his way of apologizing to soften the situation; He was a con man and professional manipulator afterall. Even still, Arthur's breath caught in his throat when Dutch stepped closer and touched his shoulder. It wasn't just an innocent touch. He could tell from the weight of his hand, the way his fingers softly pressed into his skin, and the way Dutch's eyes roamed his body it was an invitation. Dutch shifted his weight, leaning a little closer. Arthur wanted to think that Dutch was being respectful of the distance Arthur had instilled while letting him know the door was still open. 

It had been some time since they had been intimate; ever since Dutch had invited Molly to share his tent. Arthur had withdrawn from him, pulling away from the subtle touches and the closeness he had learned to crave. It was difficult to punish the other man in such a way when he still yearned him, he assumed nearly as difficult as the Reverend's morphine withdrawal.

When he was younger and more naive, he had clung onto Dutch's every word, so in love with him and his philosophies. He had been seduced by the sweet nothings the man whispered in the glow of dying campfire light, letting them snuff out any potential future he could have had with Mary, Eliza, or Abigail. After Dutch officially established his relationship with Molly, without so much as a word to him on the matter, Arthur felt discarded. He felt dumb for ever thinking there was more to their relationship than what it was. Dutch would tell him he was special, after all, they had been together for two decades, but when it came down to it, he had shown Arthur what he truly was to him: a gun and nothing more. 

"You wrote that you love me - like a father. But you love Hosea more in that regard - now I can understand that, I don't fault you. But then you said I'm _different_. What did that mean Arthur?" Dutch's hand slid down his arm and rested on his hand that was loosely hooked on his gun holster. 

A short chuckle fell from Arthur's lips. He felt himself blush at Dutch's romantic misunderstanding of his intention. He had said Hosea was human; Dutch was different from _that_ \- sometimes it seemed that his kind actions were all a guise - everything had an underlying motive; nothing was done if he didn't benefit from it, just like their relationship or whatever they had; or _had_ had. 

"I've enjoyed our...time...together - truly. But, you know there's no place for that in the open - not even in the safety of our community, right son?"

"I know." He made no move to correct the man on the intention of his words, he was rather enjoying Dutch's difficulty with addressing what he had perceived. Before everything, he would have believed Dutch but now his memories were muddied and tainted. 

"I would - I mean... if society wasn't so brutish... I'd…"

"You'd what, Dutch?" Arthur felt his heartbeat hasten as he watched his mentor stumble over his words. Dutch wasn't as smooth as he appeared if he hadn't rehearsed his speech. He was nearly a politician. It was all pissing Arthur off but also making his heart ache, which only served to further piss him off.

"Well, putting it bluntly, I'd openly share my tent with you."

"Oh, I doubt that. If you wanted that, you'd do it. You've never been too keen on doing what _society_ tells you. Isn't that the whole point of this? Freedom from the restraints of _civilization_?"

"Arthur! I never took you as the type that needed so much reassurance and attention. You're as bad as Miss O'Shea - between the two of you I have no time to think." Arthur had learned to dissect the layers of Dutch's voice over the years. The words were said to convey sarcasm, a light quip, but underneath that, in the sneer at the end of his statement was a tense chide that hinted that it wasn't so sarcastic. 

"Wasn't this, uh... Wasn't this supposed to be you apologizing to me? Now you're berating me!" Arthur mused to break the tension, earning a pat on the shoulder from the other man. He just wanted to get to the point.

"You're right," Dutch put his hands up in a mock surrender, "So...may I? Apologize?" 

Dutch tugged at the button on Arthur's pants. Arthur's brow raised. His mind was having trouble comprehending the suggestion. He had never allowed himself to even fantasize of Dutch in such a state. The man had always taken the dominant position, never giving way for any question in Arthur's mind as to what was to be expected. It wasn't to say their liaisons were passionless encounters to just fulfill a need; no, Dutch could be affectionate with him and Lord had he missed it. Arthur nodded, still unsure exactly what was going to transpire. He watched Dutch work the button and kneel before him as he shimmed his pants to his knees. He heard him chuckle when he saw his lack of union suit. It had been too hot. A chill shot up his spine when Dutch kissed his bare thighs, hurrying him to full erection. 

"You are _free_ to express any needs or desires you may have, son. What do you want at this moment, Arthur?"

Arthur licked his lips as he looked down at the man, pleasure from their new dynamic pooling in the pit of his belly. He took hold of his cock, absently stroking himself as he reached out with his other hand to touch Dutch's face, voice low and thick with desire, "Your mouth…"

He expected it all to be a ploy. At any moment, Dutch would stand up and chuckle as he walked back to his tent. Instead, Dutch leaned forward, taking him halfway into his mouth. Arthur hissed, keeping back the shuttered moan that wanted to burst forth. He admired the way the older man's cheeks hollowed as he sucked and flicked his tongue around the head of his cock. When dark eyes looked up at him, he closed his owntight to keep from finishing prematurely. It was childish but he consciously fisted Dutch's hair, reshaping it under the pomade, making sure to leave his mark. To his surprise, the man only flicked his eyes up at him for a brief moment in warning, not concerned enough to cease sucking and twirling his tongue. Eventually Dutch did pull away only to begin licking long lines along the underside of Arthur's wet cock, now exposed to the cool air. Arthur opened his eyes, looking down to lock eyes with the man again as he licked him from root to tip. He could almost swear Dutch was enjoying this, like he had thought about it for some time and finally found an excuse to allow himself a reprieve from preconceptions. 

"Dutch...I...I…" He wasn't sure how to say what he wanted to say. He had the words before he started to speak them, but they had escaped him. He gripped the man's hair as he sped up the pace, chasing after release. 

Dutch was fairly certain Arthur was trying to announce he was going to finish or proclaim his love, perhaps both. When the first didn't happen, he concluded it was the latter and chuckled to himself. He didn't protest or complain when Arthur lost control and started bucking his hips, fucking his throat. He sputtered and coughed but continued until Arthur finished. Dutch spit and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. When he looked up at the man, he saw tears blurring his blue irises.

"Arthur…"

"Sorry," Arthur was overwhelmed by all the thoughts and feelings that had plagued him as of late. His love for Dutch, his mistrust of Dutch, his worry for Dutch's mental well being, the feeling of being no longer needed, the era - their world coming to an end. He pressed his lips together and looked to the edge of the cliff. He couldn't confide in a man who no longer did so with him. Seeing how stressed the man was on a daily basis and not having him confide in him still hurt, despite all the anger he felt toward him. His eyes skirted away from Dutch's, feeling exposed and vulnerable. He looked out at the horizon. It was late and the darkness from the sky above blended with the darkness below the cliff.

He heard Dutch stand and brush off his knees. He felt the man's hand on his shoulder, his voice sincere and concerned, "What's going on, Arthur? Tell me."

"I...I don't really know." Arthur gave the man a sad smile. He swallowed a sob that racked his body as the man pulled him to his chest. He relaxed there as Dutch rubbed circles on his back and shushed him, feeling the vibration from his strong chest. They could have stayed there in comforting silence but he tried again, sickening himself, "When I'm not with you...I ache. I know it sounds pathetic - like some lovesick -"

Dutch kissed him deeply. Arthur relaxed into it, tasting himself mixed with cigars. It was more intimacy than he'd had in a long time; almost preferable to Dutch sucking him. Dutch pulled away, brushing hair from Arthur's face.

"You and me - we'll take a trip up North." Dutch pressed another short kiss to Arthur's lips. "To the Grizzlies." He kissed him again. Then on the cheek. "Find a cabin." Another kiss on the mouth then his other cheek. They were short little shotgun bursts of kisses that sprayed over his lips and on his cheeks but they left Arthur breathless, his heart beating fast and hard, shocked at the affection the man was pouring on him. Arthur wanted to drown in it but his loyalty to the gang couldn't be denied.

"Oh yeah? What about the others?" Arthur's voice was guarded, stomping out the hope weakly blossoming, disbelief consuming all else. He knew it was just a yarn Dutch was spinning, no matter how much either of them wanted to believe it.

"No one knows we're here. It'll be fine. Hosea can handle things while we're gone. Pack tonight. We'll leave at first light. Pack all the clothes you have - though I doubt you'll be wearing any of them very long."

Arthur nodded. He didn't have anything to lose and if it actually manifested into anything it may help Dutch get out of his head.

"Good," Dutch smiled and squeezed the younger man's shoulder again before making his way back to his tent. He needed a break from all the pressure he was under. It would be good to get away from the responsibility of the group. He was suffocating under it all and Molly looking at him with her worried eyes and asking him to speak to her did nothing to alleviate any of it. She reminded him of the girl on the ferry and how he had lost control. Being with men was usually easier; being with Arthur was easier. He would give him room to breathe. They were comfortable in each other's presence. Arthur wouldn't constantly preen for his attention and if he did, well, Dutch would be alright with it. He retrieved a suitcase from under the bed and opened it. As Molly pushed through the closed flap, he felt his shoulders tense up, bracing himself for the onslaught of questions that were sure to befall him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's what you get for loving something too much."

Arthur packed knowing not to get his hopes up. Dutch could get carried away in romanticism while in the moment and avoid the subject the next day. Just in case, he opened the trunk at the foot of his bed and quickly slipped a bottle of wine in his satchel. He heard footsteps nearby. It was Molly walking to the tent. He glanced at the neighboring tent and could see Dutch and Molly's shadows. He saw her approach him, reaching out to touch his shoulder and Arthur felt his stomach drop with a mixture of guilt and jealousy. 

"What's all this then?" Molly's silhouette gestured to the suitcase on the bed.

"There's a lead up in Annesburg. It'll be a long trip."

"You're just gonna go - like that? Without even discussin' it with me?"

"I am telling you now, aren't I?"

Dutch's voice deepened, dropping contractions from his grammar. Arthur knew it as a gentle warning; one that Molly wouldn't heed.

"That's the problem, Dutch! You're _tellin'_ me, not discussin' it!

"What is there to discuss?" 

"Oh, I don't know Dutch! Nothin' I suppose. Why would you tell me what you're plannin'? It's not like you give a damn about me! It's not like you care to be away from me! I bet you'll find some little trollop to keep you company..."

"Once _again_ , you are delusional. Can we _please_ just go to bed?"

Arthur sank into his cot after closing the suitcase and tried not to listen. For all his jealousy, he didn't dislike Molly. She didn't fit in at camp but she tried to be kind to the other women, even knowing how they spoke of her. He kept finding himself looking back at the tent and when Dutch sat down, he could see Molly hitch her dress and move to straddle him before Dutch held up his hand to stop her. 

"Oh sure, let's just go to bed. You haven't touched me in weeks!"

"Do you really think _this_ is the way to a man's affection?"

Arthur stared up at the canopy trying to ignore the domestic dispute. It was awkward but partially amusing to him. _A man's affection_. Arthur knew Dutch van der Linde enjoyed being wooed as much as he enjoyed wooing. Arthur also knew he enjoyed a random, unsolicited fuck from time to time as well. He heard fabric rustle from Dutch's tent and heard him stalking to the wooded side of camp. He closed his eyes, giving the man a while to cool down. 

After not hearing Dutch return for at least an hour Arthur rolled off his cot and made his way to the trees. It was well after midnight. Everything was painted in black and silvery shades of gray under the bright moonlight. After seeing no sign of Dutch or The Count, he mounted his horse and made his way past the camp and to the water. He immediately found him on the shore.

"Can't sleep?" Arthur asked as he dismounted, playing ignorant. Dutch said nothing, only looking over his shoulder at him to offer acknowledgement of Arthur's presence before returning his gaze to the water. Arthur took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to the other man. They smoked in silence for some time before Dutch turned to him.

"You know, sometimes...sometimes I wish I had never invited her into my bed."

Arthur rested his hands on his belt. He knew it was Dutch's way of saying he was sorry. 

"Could always put her to work with the other women. Grimshaw would love that. "

Dutch laughed at the suggestion, "I would never hear the end of it. A train back to her family would be best."

Arthur watched the man take a long drag of the cigarette before blowing smoke toward the lake. A roll of thunder bellowed in the distance. Arthur flicked the cigarette to the wet sand. 

"I wish I had done so many things differently." Arthur watched Dutch press his hands to his hips keeping his eyes on the dark water. 

"There's still time. You ain't that old, Dutch." Arthur jostled the man's shoulder and found pleasure seeing the smile lines around the man's eyes deepend.

"Have you packed?"

"You still on about that? I don't expect you to drop everythin'..."

"I _want_ to go, Arthur." 

"Alright, well...we should rest up. You wanna take my cot so you don't wake Molly?"

"You are a gentleman, son. I raised you well. But I made my bed. You know that throw is rather comfortable - more comfortable than you will be on the ground."

"Sure," Arthur smirked, enjoying the knowledge that Dutch spent most nights sleeping on the ground instead of in bed with Miss O'Shea.

* * *

"We'll be gone two weeks at best. There's a timber company near Annesburg -"

"Dutch, we don't need another man like Cornwall after us."

"It's just _research_ , Hosea."

Arthur finished loading the saddlebags on the horses, awkwardly walking between his two mentors before mounting his horse.

"Just try to keep a low profile."

"Of course." 

"Arthur, make sure he doesn't get in over his head, would ya?" 

"We'll be fine, Hosea." Arthur nodded to the silver haired man as he gave the horse a light kick.

"Safe travels, fellers." The older man called after. 

"You two headin' out?" Lenny nodded as the pair rode past him. Lenny looked at him with concern. In the short time he had been with the gang, Dutch had never left camo for more than a day or two at best. The young man was like a little brother to him, much less bothersome than John, and he felt the need to put him at ease.

"For a week or two. Make sure the others mind Hosea." Arthur gave the younger man a brief nod as he trotted by, "We...er... have some business up by Annesburg."

"Alright, be safe out there."

As they made their way out of the tree line and onto the road, away from earshot of the camp, Arthur spoke up, "Y'know, Hosea's right - we don't need more men funneling money to the Pinkertons."

"That was just part of the yarn, son." 

"Wouldn't it have been easier to just tell him the truth?"

"That I'm taking our son on a trip so I can bed him as many times as I want without abandon?"

"I was thinking something along the lines of a fishing trip to relax." Arthur's face burned hot at Dutch's retort. Despite Dutch stepping into action with his promise, Arthur still had his reservations that this was all a guise to accomplish something else; two birds, one stone, "Besides...I never said we were gonna sleep together." 

He heard Dutch laugh quietly, "Then I am more than happy to keep offering my apologies."

His body reacted to Dutch's forwardness, causing him to shift in the saddle. He had enjoyed Dutch's mouth. He made no comment in response, riding in comfortable silence with the other man until the sun hung low in the sky.

"There are rain clouds to the East. Wanna to setup camp here or try to make it to a hotel?"

"Here should be fine. I don't think it'll get too nasty."

"You set up and I'll find us a rabbit." Arthur watched Dutch dismount and begin unpacking their supplies in agreement. When he took the reigns to head into the field, he heard hooves on approach.

"You boys havin' fun out here?"

Arthur's hand drew to his gun on instinct when he heard the accent. He was tired of running into the dark clad bunch of them. There were six. Not much of a threat between the two of them, "Do you boys do much of anything? Seems you're always loiterin' about."

"Loiterin'? Dutch here teach you fancy words while you're suckin' his prick?"

Arthur laughed, more than used to O'Driscoll candor, "I think you're just sour no one wants that ugly mug near them."

"Fuck you."

Gunshots briefly rang out before the surrounding area fell silent. He and Dutch quickly disposed of them, dragging the bodies into the nearby treeline. When they were finished, a seventh O'Driscoll who had been hiding in the treeline snuck up behind Arthur, tackling him to the ground. Dutch quickly sent a bullet through the man's temple, skull fragment, blood, and brain matter scattering over both of them. 

"Let's put some distance between us and the bodies." Dutch holstered his gun before fruitlessly trying to shake the O'Driscoll's brain matter from his sleeve.

"Alright."

* * *

"We can set up near that pond and clean up." Arthur nodded to the pond by a few homesteads.

"Let's continue on to the river. A paper in Valentine mentioned an outbreak of typhoid and cholera up here." 

Arthur nodded. He needed to make a habit of reading the paper more often. There were more than a few occasions he had gone into town with Javier and Bill, busying himself in a game of poker or blackjack while they visited a saloon girl, just to hear town folk whispering of syphilis outbreaks. They made their way to the river. Dutch rinsed the dried pomade from his hair, letting it fall around his face. Arthur's eyes kept wandering over to him; he had always enjoyed when Dutch wore his hair naturally. He looked softer and Arthur had an almost uncontrollable urge to push a black lock behind his ear. Instead, he busied himself with laundry, removing his shirt to scrub at the specs of blood littering the collar.

The clouds looming overhead shortly broke open and hurried them back to the tent. The fire burnt low under the light rain. Arthur laid on his stomach, sketching a few of the flora and fauna they had spotted along the way while Dutch laid on his back, reading one of several books he had brought along. 

"So, what did you have in mind for this get away?" Arthur asked as Dutch closed the book. The sun had dipped past the horizon, leaving the world in twilight as the fireflies danced among tall blades of grass by the river bank. Dutch's hand pressed against the back of his thigh, just under his ass. God how he had missed his touch.

"Oh I don't know. Fish. Maybe look for a few leads. You know I'm not a hunter. I thought we'd mostly just enjoy each other's company."

There it was. Leads. There always had to be something to gain for Dutch, "What kinda leads?"

"That is yet to be determined. Maybe none."

Arthur absently nodded. The bottle he'd hidden was calling his name. It would help him loosen up. He didn't want to keep hanging on to the bad. He wanted to move past Molly and Blackwater. He wasn't sure when or if he'd get the man to himself again. 

"I have somethin' for you. Was savin' it for your birthday but I reckon now's a good time,'' Arthur smiled as he removed the bottle from the satchel lying near his bedroll. He had placed a special order at the store in Rhodes from a Vineyard further out West. It was the first scam Dutch and Hosea let him tag along on. They hadn't made off with much money but he remembered Dutch laughing it off and commenting the wine was the best he'd had. Arthur's smile broadened as Dutch laughed, the fine lines around his eyes deepening.

"Arthur, that was over ten years ago. I can't believe you remembered!"

"Of course. I'm younger than you, y'know."

Dutch laughed again and leaned back on his elbows, looking the other man up and down. Arthur gathered the cups from their thermos' and uncorked the bottle, "Thought about glasses but didn't think they'd pack well."

"No, this is perfect. You, a campfire, good wine, a beautiful night...what more could I ask for?" Arthur smiled at Dutch's words though they pained him. Dutch would always ask for more; and Arthur would give until he was used up. He heard Dutch shift behind him then the man was laying out his sleeping bag beside him. Dutch laid on his side facing Arthur. His large hand brushed a piece of blonde hair from Arthur's face, pulling him from his thoughts. "Son, I am sorry. If I had known how you felt...If I had known how it would hurt you - us - I would have never brought Miss O'Shea to camp. I have missed you."

"Dutch...I... It's alright. What's done is done." Arthur placed his hand on Dutch's. Dutch leaned over and kissed him, happy with Arthur's willingness to forgive when it came to him. 

"You know what would go well with this wine?" Dutch saw Arthur watch him for a response. Blue eyes lingered over him, quietly waiting. Dutch's hand moved up his thigh, grabbing his ass and kneading it firmly, "A little forbidden fruit."

"You have quite the appetite."

"It has been a _long_ time, son."

"I just assumed you were getting comfort from Molly or elsewhere." Arthur couldn't hide the sneer in his voice. Despite feeling cast aside, Arthur had never been under the impression they were exclusive. In the early years, when they'd head into saloons, Dutch always had women on his lap the whole night. Arthur was too sour faced and generally abrasive for empty company, which was fine by him after Eliza and Isaac. On occasion, men would approach him with a suggestive tone by the bar or on the road. After Molly, he had taken up a few rendezvous with random men but they only left him empty and missing Dutch for days after.

"Son, I haven't had _time_ and what time I do get I would much rather spend with you than Miss O'Shea or some stranger. Your company is truly a luxury I simply couldn't afford. This jealousy is... _cute_."

"I promise you it's not _cute_ , Dutch. Doesn't _feel_ cute." It hurt more than any punch or gunshot wound and refused to heal. He felt anger boiling up, unable to keep it at bay.

"I am sorry, Arthur. I can't say anything I haven't already said."

"Then give me your mouth again."

It felt good to make such a demand of Dutch without fear of punishment or retaliation. The man's dark eyes studied him for a moment before Dutch nodded, surprising Arthur with his quick submission once again. Arthur closed his eyes as Dutch pushed him back and removed his gun belt. He didn't know what he wanted but having Dutch relinquish dominance to him again was a good start. Dutch kissed the insides of Arthur's thighs before his tongue ventured lower, flicking over his hole. It flared the ache Arthur felt there but he refused to ask Dutch to relieve it. His toes curled as the man lapped at him, dipping the tip of his tongue in briefly before taking his cock in his warm mouth. He felt Dutch's hand slide over his hip and through the dark hair on his stomach, looking up at him with his mouth full. The sight made his heart pound as warmth pooled in his stomach and spread to his groin. When he came, Dutch swallowed and licked him clean before pressing more kisses over his groin and up his body to his neck. Dutch was on top of him and Arthur felt the man's clothed erection press against his hip. He writhed against the man as Dutch kissed and sucked at his neck, fighting the urge to wrap his thick legs around his slender waist, the ache inside him intensifying. 

Dutch rolled off of him and onto his back. His hand closest to Arthur grabbed his hand, holding it firmly. Arthur heard Dutch fumbling with his holster and his pants using his free hand. He glanced over, watching the older man's lips part and his eyes close as he began pleasuring himself. Arthur watched in fascination, half wanting to ask the man to fuck him but also wanting to stick to his statement near Horseshoe, at least for _one_ night. Besides, he was enjoying watching Dutch take his punishment. Despite the pull of sleep, each grunt and moan kept Arthur awake and captivated until Dutch quickly pushed up his shirt as an afterthought and spilled his seed all over his own stomach. His hold on Arthur's hand loosened but remained until the both succumbed to sleep.

* * *

When Dutch awoke, his skin was pulled taught from the dried cum on his stomach and chest. He silently cursed himself for not cleaning up and he cursed himself for not bringing cigars. They were one of his many vices: cigars, whiskey, robbery, women, Arthur. In no particular order. He had been consumed by Arthur for some time now, ever since the man had reached his prime. That consumption had quickly twisted when Arthur had withdrawn from him; dark thoughts and desires he had never felt toward another man. It warped into paranoia that Arthur was the one person who could truly hurt him and he expected him to do so, for that was how it had always unfolded for Dutch when he became enthralled. One night, in a fit of self doubt after Blackwater, with Micah making suggestions as to Arthur's loyalty, he had wanted to drag the younger man out of his cot and fuck him in front of the entire camp so they could see just how loyal Arthur was. The anger and violence inside him were becoming more difficult to silence but his love for the man prevailed in that instance. He worried that one day it wouldn't; it would be swallowed up or tainted by all the doubt and loathing he felt toward himself. 

He had always tried to cover those less than favorable qualities with philosophies of chaotic good. But they were still there, slowly clawing away at him, growing out of frustration with what the world was becoming; how even though he had tried to do good, they were still being hunted down same as Colm and the other gangs out there, perhaps even more feverently. The government and the rich didn't like them reallocating money to those in need. It cast a spotlight on the shortcomings of civilized society. The man-made world would drive him completely insane. Or perhaps Colm had been right. The day Colm killed Annebelle, he had lautered Dutch's efforts. " _Oh, you're right Dutch - it's not a gang you run. All that time and effort you put into finding these hopeless little boys to cling to your every word? It's a Goddamn cult! A fucking guise. The biggest scam you've ever pulled. At least I have the decency to not pretend I care."_

Arthur stirred, still asleep. He had grown into a handsome man. If not for Dutch, he would probably be married with several children and a few mistresses. Perhaps not any mistresses, but not for lack of women trying. Arthur was an adamantly loyal, faithful man to him, he would likely be one to a wife as well. Hopefully this fictional woman would have appreciated it far more than Dutch had; he truly was a fool. He didn't deserve a man like Arthur and there was no earthly way to show his gratitude. He thought of straddling the man and waking him up with the promise of more dominance. He thought about how Arthur's hands would feel on his hips. How good the burn would be as he sank down on him; how Arthur's mouth always went agape and he panted when he did so to him. 

Dutch wanted someone else to take control and this would be a pleasurable start. He felt guilty that the best rewards and apologies he could think of were acts of sex; mutually beneficial to both of them. He _was_ egoistic; after hearing the accusation all these years from Hosea, it finally dawned on him as true. He glanced over at Arthur who was still sound asleep; it was probably the first full night of sleep the man had in weeks. He softly pressed his hand to the man's face, gently brushing his thumb over Arthur's scruff. He soaked in the sight of him, careful not to wake him. He told himself to stop petting the younger man, uncomfortable with the ache in his chest. It wasn't the first time he felt it with Arthur and every time it started, he went to great lengths to avoid it. He recognized it from the first time he had touched Annebelle's hand. It had made the pain of her death so unbearable that something deep inside of him had broken. 

Dutch remembered a dog he had as a child. His father had brought the mutt home before he left for the war and Dutch had poured all of his love and attention into the creature. When soldiers were returning home one day, he had hurried to the front of the crowd, the dog by his side. Men walking through the street in all aray of health, some physically alright with their eyes darkened and shoulders slumped from mental trauma, while others were maimed and permanently crippled. Anxiety clutched at his stomach with each passing face that wasn't his father. At some point, a drunk woman had wandered into the crowd, berating reunited couples because her husband wasn't returning. The horses got spooked from the commotion and the dog was trampled under hooves. He had returned home, sobbing over the thing's crippled body in his arms, his mother's words cutting into him, " _That's what you get for loving something too much_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things that really got me in this game were the little interaction/body language details. There are several scenes with a lot of tension and you can visibly see Arthur reach out to touch Dutch's arm or shoulder but then he stops - usually do to something happening in the background or someone else interrupting (Bronte's, after Molly's death, during their convo in Favored Sons where Arthur mentions being worried before running up to the cliff) - y'all, Y'ALLLLLLL. It was well done but also frustrating because each time I just wanted him to comfort him. My lil fangirl heart T.T


	3. Chapter 3

"You should put your faith in God, Mr. Morgan."

"With all due respect, Reverend, I would rather put my faith in something I can see. Dutch is real. I have faith he'll see us through."

"Men are fallible, Mr. Morgan. For all our devotion and love to others, we are the most fallible creatures and we will cause great disappointment in one another, as I'm sure we all do to God."

The scent of burning wood and fresh coffee woke him from the memory of a conversation that had occurred years ago. He heard the soft patter of rain on the ground outside. Dutch smiled at him as he stepped through the opening of the tent. He quickly sat his cup aside to pour one for Arthur, carefully handing it to him. Arthur expected to taste sweet wine mixed with black coffee but Dutch had cleaned the cup at some point. It was a small gesture but a thoughtful one. The older man had used the second tent, which had been packed to avoid suspicion from the pair sleeping together in a cramped tent, to make the awning they were standing under.

"Good morning, Arthur."

Dutch's voice alone, deep and rough with lack of use, made Arthur want to obey and submit. Lust. It was a sin that ate him up; lust so powerful he willfully drowned in it. Swanson had been right to compare his faith at the time to idol worship. He drank Dutch like holy water and dropped to his knees before him every night to open his mouth, but not to pray. It was a communion he took greedily. Arthur shifted his stance due to his arousal, his erection pressing adamantly against his pants. He could terrify men with his presence alone but he was weak in the knees from just a word, glance, or gesture from Dutch. 

"Mornin', Dutch."

Dutch stood by Arthur, looking out at the Dakota. The river raged nearby, flooded from the continuous rain and the sky was gray as far as the eye could see. They drank in comfortable silence, watching a family of deer along the shore.

"Arthur, do you think…" Dutch trailed off. He wanted to tell Arthur how badly he had messed everything up in a fleeting fit of rage. He had lost sight of what was important and sacrificed it all due to his own crippling anxiety and anger, "Do you think we'd be in this mess if I hadn't listened to Micah about the ferry?"

"I dunno. I think it was all just a matter of time." Their era was ending, that much was painfully clear. Arthur clung to the hope Dutch had a real plan but he feared they were only delaying the inevitable.

"I'm a better man with you and Hosea by my side. The two of you are what makes this a family…Sometimes I...I don't know." 

Except he did know. He just couldn't bring himself to say it. Sometimes - no constantly for it was always a nagging thought in the back of his mind - he wanted to just leave. He had _planned_ to abandon the others using the Blackwater money. He had always been a fool to wishful thinking but even he knew there was no way to start a new life for twenty some people. 

Before the ferry incident, Micah had found his notes, maps, and tickets he'd purchased. He had hoped to talk Arthur and Hosea into continuing west ahead of him, to the land he'd already made negotiations on. He would talk them into it under the guise he would bring the rest of the gang. Then he'd hole up for a week or so before he set out to find the two men with the money from the ferry. He’d say the others decided to take their shares and start their own lives. Perhaps he would tell them to do just that. Perhaps he would have abandoned them completely. 

_What's all this, boss?_ Micah had asked as he looked over the three transcontinental tickets. Being seen for what he was, a coward, and both his plans going to shit had pushed him over the edge with the girl on the ferry.

"I want things to go back to how they were between us, Arthur."

"Don't doubt me again, Dutch." Arthur kept his eyes focused on the water, afraid that looking the man in the eye would make him lose his nerve, "All these years of blind faith - I need to know they mattered."

The words here hissed through clenched teeth; a rattlesnake before the strike. It surprised Dutch. He had heard Arthur speak venomously before but never had it been directed at him. He nodded, pressing his hand to Arthur's arm in an attempt to somehow solidify the promise, "You have my word."

They stood in silence and watched the deer for a few moments longer. Arthur refused to look at him, weighing the exact worth of Dutch’s word at its current value. The older man turned back to the tent, eager to retreat into Miller's words. The rain was coming down harder and he worried it would soak through the tent eventually, "Let's stable the horses in Valentine and get a room until this rain passes."

The pair finished off the remaining rabbit and coffee before packing up and riding into the livestock town. After stabling the horses and hanging the tents to dry in the stables, Dutch led them to the hotel. Arthur paid for the room while Dutch stayed down stairs to make his way to the bath. Arthur heard a bath girl call on him and he rolled his eyes when Dutch invited her in. When he returned, his hair wasn’t slicked back, instead damp and framing his face. Arthur noticed a five o’clock shadow along the man’s cheeks and jawline. He had always enjoyed full facial hair on the man and wished he would let in grow in more often. Arthur sat up on the bed, wanting to touch the stubble on Dutch’s face and run his hands through his hair. He dared not say such, instead waiting for the man to speak.

"You're reading? Are you that bored?" Dutch laughed as he gestured to the book in Arthur’s lap. The man had never been fond of Dutch's taste in literature, "You don't have to stay here. Go out! Do whatever you normally do when you're away from camp. I'll be fine for a few hours."

"I'm fine." He caught sight of something red on Dutch's shirt and took a second glance. The man's eyes followed Arthur's and he silently cursed under his breath.

Dutch shrugged off his shirt. Arthur saw the gash across his side. He recognized it immediately, it was the grazing of a bullet, "When did that happen? Get into a gun fight with the bath girl?"

Dutch chuckled as he inspected the shirt, more concerned if it could be salvaged than with the wound itself, "Our run in with Colm's boys. It looks worse than it is. Didn't notice it until I was undressing earlier."

"It'll need stitches," Arthur touched around the wound, regretting guilting the man into the trip, no matter how indirectly. He had never been good with a needle. He stood and slipped on his jacket, "I'll head to the general store for dressings. We can stop by the doctor in the morning."

"It's _fine_ , son."

"Yes, well, for some reason unbeknownst to me, I care for you. Just humor me, Dutch." Arthur closed the door behind him. He didn't want the wound to get infected. The last thing he wanted was for Dutch to come down with a fever up in the Grizzles. 

Dutch sighed as Arthur left the room. He closed his eyes, not expecting to fall asleep but all those nights spent on the floor of his tent or sleeping in a chair had taken their toll. When he awoke, ointment had been tenderly dabbed over the wound and a gauze covered it, held in place by fabric bandages that wrapped around his chest. He saw no sign of Arthur. He reached for the book Arthur had left on the bed, finding Arthur's journal underneath it. He ran his fingers over the leather cover. He remembered Arthur's words at the river. _Don't doubt me again_.

It was a fair request. Arthur had never shown any sign of disloyalty, eager to please him in his youth. In many ways that hadn't changed. Even still, the dark, insidious voice of suspicion and fear continued to plague him. It had always been there, often taking the voice of his mother. He had managed to ignore it for years but with each passing failure as of late it became louder and louder, given further advocacy by Micah. Dutch left the journal in its place and picked up the book instead, pushing the onerous thoughts away. When he opened the cover, a small hand written note fell out. Out _for a smoke. Be back soon._ _\- A_

Dutch shoved the pillows behind him and opened the book to words he could recite by heart. He wasn't sure how long he had been asleep or how long ago Arthur had stepped out. After a few minutes of reading, the voice returned. He didn't look up when he heard the door open, instead resigning, "There you are. I was starting to worry."

"Aw, that's real sweet boss."

"What're you doing here?" Dutch sat up and closed the book, anger over the intrusion evident on his face.

"I noticed you two's tracks went the opposite way of Annesburg. I just wanted to make sure everything was ok - that the cowpoke didn't lead you into a trap or nothin'. I don't trust him." Micah laid on the inflection in his voice, always one for histrionics.

"I appreciate the concern but I'd appreciate your presence back at camp more. In case anything happens while Arthur and I are away."

"I'm just concerned is all."

"We are fine, Mr. Bell. What I do is none of your concern. Go back to camp."

"I think it's best I come along. Another gun can't hurt while looking for leads."

"Go. Back. To. Camp."

The door opened again and Arthur paused. Dutch could see the surprise on the man's face and the little spark of anger igniting, "Micah…"

Arthur clutched his fists. His chest was tight and adrenaline was pumping through him as one question repeated in his mind, louder and louder: Had Dutch instructed Micah to follow them because he still doubted him? He wasn't sure. The mistrust had ruined and skewed everything.

"Evening, cowpoke."

"Micah was just leaving." Dutch reassured Arthur as he walked past him and held the door open 

"Why is he - why are you here Micah?"

"I wanted to make sure you boys got on ok. Thought you were going to Annesburg?"

"We got caught in the rain and decided to make a detour."

"You don't answer to him, Arthur. He would do well to remember that."

Arthur heard the venom in Dutch's voice and knew this wasn't his doing. 

"Oh, there's a hierarchy now? I thought this was about equality."

"You are testing my patience."

"Fine...fine. I suppose I just worry too much. I'll leave you be and head back to camp in the morning. I'll be in the next room if you boys need anything...seeing as how it wasn't rented out when I arrived."

As Micah exited, Dutch closed the door and listened for retreating footsteps.

"He knows, Dutch."

"Knows what?"

"Dutch! He knows we're sharing a room - he knows we're sharing a damned _bed_!"

"That doesn't mean anything, son. No one would listen to him anyway."

"You seemed to listen to him just fine when he got in your ear about the ferry and my loyalty." Arthur felt the anger returning with how indifferent Dutch was. He had worked hard to keep their relationship away from prying eyes and now all his efforts could be wiped out by a slithering snake of a man's assumptions over accommodations. He jumped when Dutch took his hand.

"I was weak. Can you just allow me that so we can move forward?"

Arthur told himself to stop. He knew his anger could become a wildfire, burning everything in its path. He saw sincerity in Dutch's eyes so he nodded and sat beside the other man. Dutch pulled Arthur's hand to his mouth and kiss his knuckles. The younger man took a deep breath, "Should we head toward Annesburg now? Micah may follow us...and if something happens back at camp, they won't know how to find us."

"He'll listen and if he doesn't we'll deal with him. When we find a spot, I'll send a letter to Hosea with our location. Are you hungry?" Dutch stood and took a fresh button down from his suitcase. 

"Starving."

"Let me take you to dinner." Dutch held out his hand to help Arthur up. The blonde smirked and ignored it as he pushed off the mattress. The possibility of dealing with Micah gave Arthur more joy than any meal could bring, but he would take what was currently being offered. He felt Dutch's arm slide around his waist and he relaxed into the touch. It was a brief display of possession and affection but Arthur basked in it long enough to commit the moment to memory.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Handsy Arthur, confrontation, flashback to the start of the O'Driscoll feud, and nurse Arthur. Oh my!

Morning light filtered through the tree canopy and gleamed over the rolling river as they followed the Dakota through Cumberland Forest. The rain had let up in the early hours and they left through the hotel’s upstairs exit to avoid passing the room Micah had rented. Three glass vials of antibiotics procured from the doctor before leaving Valentine clinked together in Arthur's satchel as The Count slowly trotted along the trail, setting a comfortable pace. Other than the conversation he overheard outside the doctor's office about the Blackwater incident while he waited for the doctor to stitch up Dutch's wound, he felt better than he had in awhile. He pushed the conversation and the thoughts it spurred to the back of his mind. Arthur’s hands hung low on Dutch’s hips as he enjoyed the ride. His horse was carrying two large white tails he had spotted in the early hours of dawn. He watched as Dutch drank from his canteen, Adam's apple bouncing with each swallow. It had been long enough.

Arthur eyed the trail and glanced behind them for any sign of Micah. Content they were alone, he brushed Dutch’s hair out of the way and pressed his lips to the man's neck. He felt Dutch tense in surprise and smirked to himself. Arthur ran his hands up the man's sides, carefully avoiding the wound, before moving over his chest and down his sternum to his belly and over his spread thighs. Dutch relaxed against him, giving free rein to the horse as Arthur kneaded his growing erection and sucked at a sensitive spot on his neck, leaving little bruises as a testament to his desire. 

“Let’s find a cabin.” Arthur’s voice was low and teaming with suggestion, igniting an ache in Dutch who was now grinding against his palm. He grasped the reins again and gave a small kick, sending the albino into a quick trot. Arthur’s hands didn’t cease their exploration, eventually brushing over his belt. He slid the strap of his belt from his buckle before unbuttoning his pants. Arthur’s hand dove down into Dutch’s pants and freed his erection. The hand was rough against the sensitive skin of his cock, causing him to moan and instinctively grind against him, chasing the friction. Arthur smirked at the generous amount of precum dripping from the tip as he brushed his thumb over, smearing it all over the fat, blushing head and earning a gasp from the other man. He was enveloped in the scent of wet leaves and Dutch.

Arthur leaned forward, running his other hand up the man’s vest, fighting the urge to rip it open and pop the buttons from it. Instead, he fumbled with the buttons and then started on the top half of the dress shirt, just enough to expose some skin. He pulled the garment away from Dutch’s shoulder and began kissing the bare flesh. His hands ran under the remaining lower half of the shirt and continued upward until he felt a pert nipple and began playing with it; flicking and teasing with light pinches and tiny circles. Dutch was leaning back against him, a heap of moans and desire laid out for the taking. Arthur had never been so daring in making the first move but he was finding it paid handsomely. He scooted forward and caught the man's ear lobe in his mouth, slowly grinding his erection against the back of Dutch’s bedroll for friction, words nearly an unintelligible growl, “I want you, Dutch.”

Neither of them were paying enough attention to their surroundings to spot the aforementioned cabin. The Count came to a halt, jarring both men from their preoccupations. The river had flooded in the low valley and washed out the bridge. They continued along the Dakota until they found a calm spot. Arthur tied down the deer to ensure they wouldn’t be carried off his horse as they crossed near Widow’s Rock. Immediately across from the river was a cabin surrounded by overgrown grass and weeds. 

Dutch made himself decent as Arthur slid off the horse. He heard Arthur take the repeater from his saddle bag and swing it over his shoulder as he continued ahead to the cabin. As Dutch dismounted and followed, the younger man looked back at him, giving a quick wink. It was rare, but the boy could be a tease when he wanted. Dutch swallowed hard, trying to will away his painful erection. Arthur stepped onto the small front stoop and knocked on the door. After a moment of no response, he looked back at Dutch who nodded, giving the go ahead as he rested his hands on his holsters, ready to cover the younger man if needed. Arthur found the door wasn’t locked and made his way inside, immediately greeted by the smell of putrid decay, causing him to heave. Two men laid on the floor, long dead. He hurried out of the small shack and called to Dutch, “There are two bodies.”

They made quick work of stripping the blood stained sheets from the mattress and buried the bodies, opening the door and the small window to let the place air out. Dutch looked up at him as he wiped sweat from his brow, arousal long gone, “Well...Up for some fishing?”

Arthur chuckled and gestured toward the horses so they could retrieve their poles, "After you."  
  


* * *

Dutch brought in some of the firewood while Arthur gutted and cooked the fish they had caught. There wasn't a fireplace in the tiny cabin but there was a wood burning stove. They started the fire, ate, and retired to the small bed. Dutch laid on his back and read aloud as Arthur laid on his chest, Dutch's hand absently playing with the blonde hair at the nape of Arthur's neck. The fire crackled over the logs and Dutch wanted to ask Arthur to stay with him like this. It was a loophole around the suspicion that constantly plagued him: If they gave the money to the gang, or if he at least told Arthur he did, there would be no incentive his mind could cook up for Arthur to betray him. He would give Arthur everything the Pinkertons could possibly offer him: A new life away from it all. Dutch cleared his throat, "We’ll head out again in the morning...Find some place that isn't covered in blood stains."

"Alright. Can we...Can we talk?" Arthur toyed with a button on Dutch's shirt. The older man dog-eared his page and closed the book. Arthur fumbled with the edge of his journal as he found courage to ask for the second time since Colter, hoping for something less dismissive this time, "What happened in Blackwater?"

"I know you think I’m - Hell, _I_ \- worry I'm losing sight of everything…" Arthur sat up, leaning against the wall to observe the man's facial expressions, interested in the sudden intimacy. Dutch found it hard to meet his gaze and Arthur averted his eyes for the other man's comfort, "I...I messed up, Arthur. I didn't keep my calm. Micah was in my ear but I should haveknown better...It's been difficult to admit I crossed that line...I tell myself if I ignore it, then it's not true..."

"Believe me, Dutch, I wish it worked like that - I know that feelin' better than anyone. But people make mistakes... Learn from it - that's what you taught me. A lapse in judgement doesn't have to define you. Why do you let him get in your head so much..."

"Son, I want nothing more than to be the man you once thought I was...When you and Hosea were gone on that lead... I was foolish to confide things in Micah -"

"What things?"

"Arthur..." Dutch's voice cut low; it was a warning.

 _But he could tell Micah._ Arthur wasn't understanding and had it been anyone else, he would have lashed out but he bit his tongue, deciding to get some air instead. When he stood, Dutch caught his wrist, "I will tell you, you have my word. I know I owe it to you but I'm afraid it will change things between us and, well, I just want to enjoy this time with you."

"...Whatever it was...I'll take care of it. Micah thrives on chaos - if there's not any, he makes it. It's time to cut him loose." Arthur was happy to offer the assistance; He couldn't stand the man's very being or how cagey Dutch became around him, "Don't let him destroy everything we've built. I can't watch that happen. I won't."

He knew giving the man an ultimatum was a risk. Dutch was liable to get pissed off and ignore him. But he was also liable to listen. Arthur was hesitant to meet the man's gaze again, worried he would see anger or that fatherly look of disappointment which cut him all the more deeper. Instead the man took his hand, running his thumb over his knuckles, "It's not your place to take care of all my problems, son.”

“I _want_ to take care of it. Without him holding it over you, we'll _all_ be better for it.”

"I'll think on it, Arthur." Dutch opened the book back to the page he had marked and Arthur settled back on his chest, Dutch's voice lulling him to sleep.

* * *

Dutch's body jerked awake suddenly, feeling Arthur shift and grumble on top of him. It was the same dream he'd had over a thousand times now. He still felt the drop in his stomach, riveting from the physical effects as his brain lingered between the dream and consciousness. He was covered in sweat and couldn't breathe. He could never recall anything from the dream other than falling and the thud that always woke him, his mother's and Colm's words haunting him.

_"That's what you get for loving something too much...You should know better than to get attached to a gun, Dutch. They're canon fodder. Their job is to die."_

The dreams had started after Annabelle's death, when he first started to feel overwhelmed and insecure in the decisions he had made. He felt a shiver run up his spine as he recalled Colm’s words and that time before. He carefully rolled Arthur off him and sat up on the bed, burying his face in his hands as memories came flooding back. 

He and Arthur had taken their reading lesson into the tree line surrounding the O’Driscoll camp. It was before John and all the rest came along; Dutch in his mid-twenties and Arthur on the cusp of manhood. Back then, they would frequently partner with the O'Driscolls to help with a score for extra cash. Dutch sat on a fallen tree trunk and Arthur on the ground beside him, his elbow occasionally brushing Dutch's knee as he'd turn the page. He was nineteen at the time and well read, but Dutch enjoyed these moments with him, only correcting his pronunciation on rare occasions. 

"What's this word?" Arthur pointed at the small print and Dutch slid down to sit beside him. His arm wrapped around the young man's shoulders, his thumb gently stroking his arm absently.

"Chiaroscuro. It's the difference in light and dark."

"Well, isn't this heartwarming.” Branches broke under Colm’s boots as he approached them, causing Dutch to promptly remove his hand from Arthur's back, “Go on boy, I need to have a word with Dutch." 

"You should know better than to get attached to a gun, Dutch. They're canon fodder. Their job is to die. You ready to go over this robbery?" Colm saw how Dutch's eyes trailed after the blonde as he scurried off. Dutch hadn't realized it at the time, but when he recalled those days they spent in association with Colm's gang, the attraction had obviously been there; in touches both brief and lingering; how he took advantage of offering the boy reading lessons even though he was more than capable; how even when John, Bill, and the rest came along he still only allowed Arthur on fishing trips with him and Hosea. He wasn't aware of it's manifestation until years later, when Hosea had left with Bessie.

He woke in the middle of the night to the sound of muffled yells and something scraping against the ground. When he left his tent, he found Arthur's empty. Three of Colm's men had him on the ground, cat calling him. Dutch wasn't particularly menacing nor did he have any hold over the men, but it didn't stop him from stepping in, hands splayed over his revolvers, "Leave the boy alone."

"Oh he’s a very _pretty_ boy. C’mon share your little bitch with us!"

"Excuse me?" The men ignored Dutch, laughing as they continued harassing Arthur. Dutch's hand balled into a fist but instead of using it, his other hand reached for his revolver and he shot two of them dead. The other whimpered begging for mercy. Arthur looked all the more terrified. Dutch motioned for the other man to run along and he did so. Colm said nothing of the event. At the time, Dutch and Arthur’s assistance was of more importance to him than a few nameless dead men.

After that night, they parted ways with Colm’s gang. Arthur became particularly affectionate and Dutch fed into it by lavishing more attention and praise on the man. Dutch stopped sending him on jobs that involved the slightest hint of risk. It was innocent but at the same time, it wasn't. He hadn’t acted on it but the urge was there, primal and consuming. He would visit saloon girls and imagine Arthur, his mind replacing their curvy figures with Arthur's clean lines.

When Hosea returned, Dutch saw the short glances and the judgement the older man, his dear friend, cast toward him. He quickly retreated from Arthur. And Arthur, feeling abandoned, sought comfort in a waitress at a nearby tavern. Dutch had found John and Bill by that time and was ready to plan their own scores without Colm’s help. He distracted himself from Arthur by teaching John to read, and well, Bill wasn't much of a student but Dutch taught him to be a better shot.

When the girl fell pregnant, Arthur begged to help with their first train robbery, wanting a piece of the take to send to the girl and child. Dutch wouldn’t allow it. The boy left the camp in a fit, cursing Dutch and storming through the camp. After the successful robbery, Dutch rode out to the girl’s home to find Arthur, giving him the entirety of his own share. Arthur stood there, not knowing what to say or how to apologize for the things he had said. Dutch nodded at him and rode back to camp without a word. The next night, Arthur returned to camp after all the lanterns were out and ducked into Dutch’s tent. Dutch awoke to the younger man gently shaking him. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Arthur’s red eyes and caressed his face, “What’s wrong, son?”

“I’m sorry...I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m so sorry. Thank you.”

When Dutch sat up in the bed, Arthur nearly tackled him, hugging him tight. Dutch pulled him close, resting his chin on top of the man’s head.

“Shh. It’s alright,” He ran his hands through Arthur’s soft hair, closing his eyes to enjoy the feel of the man against him. It needed to be said as much as he didn’t want to. Part of what endeared him to Arthur was the boy was always quick to feel guilt, despite the fact that Dutch always absolved him of any trespass. He lowered his voice, trying not to sound too harsh, still stroking the man’s hair, “Don’t disrespect me again - not in front of the others.”

“I won’t. Thank you.” Arthur pressed a quick kiss to Dutch’s mouth, experimental and reserved, afraid of being pushed away or thrown out of camp. Desire stirred, but Dutch pushed it aside, not wanting to taint their relationship. Instead he pulled Arthur into the bed with him, holding him until they both fell asleep.

Arthur spent the next few years visiting the boy when he could, but always returning at night if camp wasn’t out of the way. At one point, Arthur had stayed for a week around the boy’s sixth birthday. They had needed him for a job and Dutch hated to intrude, putting it off as long as he could. When he arrived, he saw Arthur playing with the boy by the house; he chased after him, playfully picked him up and slung him over his shoulder, spinning in circles until they were both dizzy, laughter filling the evening air. A smile found Dutch’s face as a gentle warmth filled his chest. He watched from the distance for some time until the pair retreated inside, feeling immense guilt over having to take Arthur from the life he could have.

One night, after reading about a string of murders in the area, Dutch had waited up for him, trying to hide his concern when the man came trudging into camp, “There you are! How’s your boy?”

“He’s growin’ like a weed.” Arthur smiled as Dutch stood and walked toward his tent, following behind, “I’ve been teaching him to read - well, trying to at least. I’m not half the mentor you or Hosea were.”

Dutch chuckled as he took a seat on his cot, “Hosea always doted on you, but I never thought you were very focused. I was surprised when you started writing in that journal.”

Arthur took a seat beside the other man, casually placing his hand on his knee, “I wasn’t focused with you because I was always distracted.”

“By what?” Dutch glanced down as Arthur’s hand moved a few inches higher on his leg. He swallowed, trying to keep desire at bay.

“You, Dutch.” 

Before Dutch could process the two simple words, Arthur was leaning toward him and their lips pressed together. Dutch kissed him back, hands eagerly roaming the younger man’s body. Arthur flicked his tongue against Dutch’s mouth to ask permission. He parted his lips and let the man in, moaning as Arthur began palming him through his pants. He had to pull himself away, holding on to the metal frame of the cot to keep his hands to himself. Guilt and fear washed over him, making his chest ache and his stomach churn. It wasn’t the paranoid, infected maw of fear that consumed him now. It was pure. He was terrified; of Arthur breaking his heart when he realized he wanted to be with his family, of Arthur getting killed on a job, of hurting Arthur in some way or another. He already loved the man and worried after him daily, knowing the loss of him would be tremendous. _That’s what you get for loving something too much_. In an act of self preservation, he grasped Arthur’s hands and pulled away, “Arthur, I can’t. I...I think it best if we get some sleep. In separate tents.”

He could see the pain of rejection and heartbreak on the man’s face and his chest tightened, his voice cracking as he offered a lie to ease the pain, “You’re like a son to me.”

In that second rejection, Arthur found Mary. Dutch was painfully aware of the distance the boy intentionally put between them. When Arthur told him he loved Mary and wanted to cut loose and start a new life, Arthur saw the look Dutch gave him, a light leaving his eyes as he cast them downward. Arthur smirked, feeling accomplished by hurting the older man but his chest also ached. Dutch let him go, loving him too much to keep him. _That’s what you get for loving something too much_.

Then, during a scam he was running with Hosea, Dutch found Annabelle. She was kind, gentle, and had the patience of a saint. When Dutch brought her to camp she started a small garden in several crates that could be moved, given their lifestyle. It was her idea to keep chickens in the camps. She was constantly tending to the garden or with the hens. With her returned all the light and warmth that had disappeared when Arthur left. She knew he was in pain, still silently heartbroken over Arthur; feeling abandoned and worrying after the younger man’s well being. She never pried, but allowed him to break down in the intimacy of their shared tent. He would weep into her skirts like a child as she gently stroked his hair. _That’s what you get for loving something too much_.

Months later, Arthur returned and Dutch welcomed him with open arms. As soon as his eyes fell on the younger man, his heart swelled with love for him again, absolving all the pain Arthur’s absence had caused. 

When he and Hosea planned their first bank robbery, Arthur overheard and was eager to come along. This time, distracted from his anxiety over Arthur’s well being by Annabelle’s presence, Dutch reluctantly agreed with Hosea reminding him how intimidating Arthur had become with his muscular frame and deep voice - his presence alone would hurry the patrons to empty their pockets. 

During the getaway, Dutch’s horse was shot and Arthur halted beside him, helping him on Boadicea. At some point, Dutch’s hand brushed over Arthur’s lap and he felt the man’s excitement over the successful robbery. He couldn’t resist, fueled by his own adrenaline, he stroked Arthur through his pants. When they checked into a hotel several towns away, Dutch immediately sent Hosea off on a lead so he could speak to Arthur openly. He hadn’t had the time or privacy to do so since Arthur had returned.

"What happened with Mary?" Dutch was sitting in a worn armchair by the bed, reading when Arthur returned to the room from a long bath.

"Oh you know...I'm not good enough - for anybody, I guess. Seems nobody will have me." Arthur loosened the buttons on his shirt as he flopped on the bed.

"That's not true, Arthur. She just wasn't right for you." Dutch didn’t look up from the book, trying to avoid the accusation in Arthur’s tone.

"And you? You didn't want me either. Not in your bed that night. Not in the gang…" Arthur had moved to the edge of the bed, sitting across from him.

"Arthur, stop it. You don't know what you're talking about." Dutch closed the book, ready to reprimand him, but instead watched the younger man hang his head between his shoulders. He needed to say more but he didn't want to drudge up all those feelings. He broke the moment of silence, knowing he should wade through them for the boy, "I feel like I have to choose between wanting you and loving you. I have tried to choose what's best for you. Maybe I've been wrong." 

Maybe he should have taken him long ago and put an end to all the damned longing but he didn't want to make their relationship a perversion of the love he felt for Arthur.

"It hurts, Dutch. I can't stop thinkin' about you, no matter where I go or who I'm with. Maybe Eliza knew. Maybe Mary knew. Maybe that's why neither worked out. I need you to show me you feel the same - that I'm not some pervert for lustin' after a man that raised me."

Dutch froze for a moment, shocked by the man’s confession of guilt. Arthur felt the same shame he was plagued by and perhaps that should have dissuaded him, but all he wanted was to give comfort to the boy. He stood from the chair and began to undress in front of the younger man, feeling Arthur's eyes on him the entire time as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his shoulders. His cock twitched when Arthur licked his lips and walked on his knees toward him. He felt Arthur’s hot mouth on his chest, kissing invisible trails along the map of his body. The younger man used his strength to pull Dutch on the bed with him, crawling on top of him and making short work of Dutch’s pants. The younger man took him in his mouth, eager and passionate but inexperienced. It didn't matter. All these years of desire culminated into this moment. Dutch looked up at the cracking ceiling, trying not to finish prematurely, gripping at lovely blond hair.

Weeks later, Arthur was sobbing into his chest. He had rode out to drop off his share of the robbery with Eliza and Isaac and found their graves by the house. He was heaving and hyperventilating into Dutch’s shirt, holding onto him for dear life as his fingers dug into him. The others were wandering around the tent, curious as to what was happening. He stayed strong for Arthur, trying to be his anchor through the storm of grief and anger that was raging inside him. The boy’s knees went weak and Dutch caught him before he crumbled to the floor. He helped the man to the cot, sitting beside him. He pulled Arthur back to his chest, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead as he wept in his arms. Dutch’s eyes burnt with the tears he kept at bay and his heart broke for the man; it was suffocating and painful. _That’s what you get for loving something too much_.

Within the following days, Colm asked Dutch to help his brother with a robbery. He and Hosea had discussed breaking off alliances after hearing about the stagecoach full of women and children Colm's boys had robbed and viciously murdered. But they needed money to move forward and it was a quick job with a large payout so Dutch obliged. Annabelle woke as he rose that morning, fretting after him to the horses. He promised to be careful, caressing her pregnant belly and tucking a wildflower in her hair.

The robbery was a success with no hiccups. Dutch stepped out of the coach, dividing the take and tossing it to Colm’s brother and the other two O’Driscoll boys. One of the boys smirked at Colm’s brother, holding up the stack before stuffing it in his pocket, “This makes up for that measly five'r you killed that girl and her kid over.”

“Excuse me?” Dutch saw red and heard Arthur’s pained sobbs again, felt his boy’s tears on his arms and his death grip as his heart broke. His hands twisted into painful fists, crumpling the money. Colm’s brother looked at him, raising his brow, surprised by Dutch’s sudden change in demeanor at the statement; Dutch was all the more enraged by the silence, sneering through clenched teeth, “What did you say?”

“We got a tip that this homestead had a lot of money coming in. Turned out to just be some young mother and her dumb kid.”

Dutch shot the O'Driscoll boy in the gut, leaving him to bleed out and tackled Colm’s brother to the ground. He wrapped his hands around the man’s neck, pressing on his jugular with his thumbs. He heard Arthur’s ragged breath and remembered how his boy had made himself sick with grief, blind from tears. When he came out of it, Colm’s brother was long dead, lips blue and eyes bloodshot. The remaining O’Driscoll had scurried off. Dutch knew they would have to move camp and fast. He rode hard back to the others.

“Hosea! Miss Grimshaw! Get everything packed up! Now! We have to leave!”

“Dutch, what’s going on? Some of Colm’s boys came by looking for you.” Hosea darted out from his tent, taking in the sight of Dutch, disheveled and wild. 

“DUTCH! DUTCH VAN DER LINDE!” Colm appeared on the hill above camp, dragging Annabelle with him.

“This has nothin’ to do with her, Colm! Let her go.”

"Now I can't do that, Dutch. You shot my brother in cold blood."

"It weren't cold blood. Let her go. Now."

"Bullshit!"

"There has to be some mistake!" Hosea stepped forward, confused by all the commotion. He raised his hands to show he wasn't a threat.

"No mistake about it," Colm pressed the barrel of his gun against Annabelle's temple, "I like you, Hosea, so I advise you to stay outta this."

"What the Hell is goin' on?!" Arthur rounded one of the wagons after being pulled from his depression slumber by a frantic Bill.

"Your daddy here - your _savior_ , " Colm spit the word out as he looked around at the lot of them; Dutch's little gang. Hosea, Arthur, Bill, Davey, Mac, hell even little John, hardly bigger than the rifle he was holding, was ready to shoot, all loyal to Dutch thanks to his charlatan charisma, "He killed a man in cold blood - my goddamn brother. All your bullshit about doing better how this isn't a _gang._..Oh, you're right Dutch - it's not a gang you run. All that time and effort you put into finding these hopeless little boys to cling to your every word? It's a Goddamn cult! A fucking guise. The biggest scam you've ever pulled. At least I have the decency to not pretend I care." "

"It weren't in cold blood, Colm," Dutch repeated carefully as he calculated the situation. He glanced over at Arthur, already teaming with grief fueled anger. He was quick on the trigger and would have Colm dead in a second if Dutch told him it had been Colm to send men to rob Eliza and Isaac, but he hesitated. It was going to get ugly. He loved Arthur too much to risk the slightest chance of the man blaming himself for what would transpire, "Your brother was a piece of shit and you know it."

A smile cracked Colm's mouth and laughter burst forth, sending birds flying from the trees. Dutch felt his stomach bottom out, "You're right, Dutch van der Linde. He was a sorry sack of a man. But that don't change nothin'."

 _That’s what you get for loving something too much_.

The shot rang out, sending another wave of birds scattering overhead. Dutch felt his feet pounding on the earth and he ran forward, catching Annabelle as her lifeless body fell to the ground. Tears streaked down his face as he cradled her, brushing her blood matted hair from her face. _That’s what you get for loving something too much_. He sobbed over her, paying no mind to the beating hooves surrounding him as Bill, Mac, and Davey chased after Colm and his gang. Arthur paused by Dutch, wanting to comfort him but he didn't know how; not in the moment with feelings so raw. He knew when he found Eliza and Isaac's grave, he was so distraught he wouldn't have wanted to be touched. Hosea was slowly approaching, reaching toward Dutch; He knew the man best and there would be no mixture of shame or regret brought on by his comfort. Instead, he stalked away, pulling himself up on his horse to join Bill and the others.

The garden withered and something inside Dutch had broken. He had built the gang around principles of freedom and the occasional kindness and he had to keep that going to keep them loyal to him, but he no longer felt it in his heart. He had been weak to expect such principles to allow him a decent life.

Dutch was shaking at the memory and felt Arthur move behind him, slowly wading through the fog of sleep and recognizing something was wrong. He felt the man’s strong hands rubbing circles on his back.

“What’s goin' on? You’re ok. It’s alright,” Arthur pulled him to his chest and Dutch could hear the words vibrating through him, soothing him as best they could. He felt the man touch his forehead and then pull away reaching for his satchel on the table by the bed, “Dutch, you’re burnin’ up. Here. The medicine.”

Dutch swallowed the bitter liquid and laid back on the bed as Arthur gently pushed him down. He pressed a hand to his eyes, trying to alleviate the pressure there. He heard Arthur going through the cabinets of the small cabin.

“I’ll be right back. I’m just goin' to get water from the river. Stay here.” Arthur cursed under his breath as he excited the cabin, the cold cutting through his union suit and causing his entire body to go rigid. He filled the bucket and wet the washcloths and hurried back to the cabin. He rang out a rag over the bucket, trying to will his fears away with the excess water. He sat the bucket on the wood stove to heat and hurried over to Dutch, dabbing the man’s sweat soaked neck before folding the fabric and laying it over his forehead. When the water was steaming, Arthur soaked another rag in it and removed the bandages from Dutch's wound. It was red and swollen. He brought a chair to the bed and sat as he cleaned around the swollen stitches before dabbing ointment on top and covering it with fresh wrappings. When he was finished, he leaned against the bed and felt Dutch's hand squeeze his. The man said nothing, lying as still as a board with his eyes closed as he fought through a sudden wave of nausea. Arthur stroked his thumb over the other man's knuckles and picked up the book on the nightstand with his free hand. He opened it to the last page Dutch had read from and began to read aloud.  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy angst??

"Do it, Dutch! She's in the way! _She’s just a girl_!" Micah continued his onslaught of manic encouragement. The woman was whimpering against him, barely struggling any longer, worn thin by the length of their standoff with the law. 

"Please...I have children…"

"Shut up! Dutch! Dutch! Do it or we won't be getting off this god damn boat. Don't you wanna keep all this money that Mac just died for? Hmm? Don't you wanna see Hosea again? _Arthur_ ? Oh, he'll be _real_ distraught - it may be the final straw for that bleedin' heart cowpoke. Let's _go._ "

Heidi McCourt wasn't just a girl. She was the symbolic death of his self control and everything he had tried so desperately to stand for. 

He looked over at Arthur, still sitting in the chair by the bed. He had dozed off an hour ago and Dutch wanted to let him sleep. He took the canteen from the nightstand where Arthur had left it for him. His throat was on fire and sour from vomiting in a bucket all night. The evidence of such thankfully discarded by Arthur at some point. He rinsed his mouth with the water before drinking. The fever had broken and now he was starving. When he sat up, he braced himself for another wave of nausea but it didn't come. He was thankful Arthur had forced him into the doctor's office for the antibiotics. The younger man stirred and softly groaned, in tune with his movements. Arthur blinked his eyes open then stretched and popped his back before looking over at Dutch.

“Here, get some rest, son.” Dutch gestured to the bed as he stood up, using Arthur's broad shoulder to stabilize himself. 

“No, ‘m fine. You should lie back down.” Arthur placed his hands on Dutch’s hips as he walked in front of him, feeling something stir in himself as he looked up at the other man, “’m gonna take care of you.”

“You already have - I feel fine, truly! Under your watchful eye, I am fit and well.”

“Alright...but remember what the doctor said...you still need to finish the whole course of medicine.” Arthur was reluctant to believe the man but he did look fine and Arthur didn’t particularly care to play the role of a henpecking wife or nursemaid any longer.

“Yes, yes. Now, get some rest. Then we’ll pack and find another cabin - one that doesn’t stink of death and vomit.”

“I don’t know...Other than you throwing up all night, it was starting to feel a bit cozy.” Arthur mused as Dutch straightened his clothes. He unceremoniously flopped himself on the bed and rolled to his side. Dutch chuckled at his statement before finding the percolator and using the wood stove to start brewing coffee. 

* * *

Dutch took the first drag of a cigar, the fire filling his lungs and tobacco sweet on his tongue. The mountains lined the distance and the sound of the rolling river soothed the discord that constantly plagued him. He felt both heavy with the weight of the world when he let his mind drift to his responsibilities to the others and weightless as he took in his surroundings. He looked out toward the river and thought back to what he said to Hosea when they arrived at Horseshoe Overlook. _This world isn't without its consolations._ And here he was with the first place prize; his golden boy sleeping peacefully only a few feet away. A proud love; when his self-doubt wasn’t burning him alive.

After Annabelle's death he had withdrawn from Arthur once again, gradually and methodically to avoid hurting him but he seemed to do just that no matter what his intentions were, Colm’s words resonating in his mind. The more emotional distance he put between them, the further he drifted from his original ideals of compassion in his savage utopia. He had used Arthur's grief to shape him into a terrifying gun; bellicose and merciless. Dutch wasn't proud of it. It had been his biggest blunder, tainting their relationship far more than he had ever feared sex would. The duplicity of it all had not been lost on him, making it all the more painful. After the initial rage of grief subsided, Arthur came to realize it but never said anything of it. 

Despite all his mistakes with Arthur, he never told the boy or anyone why he had killed Colm's brother, not wanting him to catch wind of it. He feared the boy would blame himself for Annabelle's death or their blood feud with the O'Driscolls. Even when he was blinded by anger and grief, he still cared for Arthur on some subconscious level. Being with him again now, intimately, made him want to strive for better, something beyond just surviving.

He found Arthur had skinned and butchered the two deer at some point, then brined the venison. Dutch was more than impressed with the boy's skills as an outdoorsman while he himself was better versed at making coffee. He thought back to the prior day and Arthur's strong hands on his body, groping and caressing him like he owned him. His cock stiffened at the sudden thought of Arthur taking him. He had thought of it numerous times since Arthur had grown into the ideal image of a romance novel cowboy; handsome, rugged, and strong. He thought about Arthur's large hands on his hips and how his thick cock would feel grinding against his ass. He had never been comfortable with giving up the perception of power and control to allow himself to indulge his hidden fantasies where he was utterly debauched by the younger man. Someone would be bound to notice small intricacies in their dynamic and word would get around camp; respect would dwindle. But out here, in the great and wild yonder, who would know? 

He shifted in his seat and glanced at his pocket watch. He wanted to give Arthur a few more hours and then wake him with his mouth. It was a small compromise his stubborn ego could justify. Besides, he had to give Arthur something to keep his attention and Lord did he enjoy feeling Arthur twitch and moan before him as much as he enjoyed Arthur's own mouth. His plan was quickly destroyed when Arthur opened the door behind him. He turned to greet the other man, "Good morning."

"Is it still mornin'?" Arthur smirked as he sipped from a cup of coffee Dutch had left out for him. He stood beside him as he took in the sight of the river. Dutch extended his arm and caressed the small of Arthur's back. 

"Close enough, I suppose. There's no hurry."

Arthur enjoyed Dutch’s touch, having missed it for so long. He wanted to ask the man to stay here with him but the desire brought shame from how self absorbed a request it was; a cowardice aversion from their responsibilities to the gang. He kept his mouth shut and enjoyed the moment for a while longer. The desire from yesterday returned as he cast his eyes over the man, watching him smoke his cigar.

"Good," He stepped in front of Dutch and lowered himself between his knees, undoing the man's belt and pants with such skill that an experienced madame would be impressed. Dutch relaxed in the chair, taking another slow drag of the cigar as he watched Arthur dole out a little forgiveness. He held the smoke in his lungs as Arthur freed his cock and blew it in the air above them as he began stroking it, "We could stay here...for the rest of the trip."

"I'd like to get further away from the trail and I know you love the mountain views when we're not freezing our asses off. I want to give you what you want." He traced Arthur's jawline with his free hand, waxing poetic in the free wilderness, "You are a gift, Arthur. A gift I don't deserve."

Arthur felt his eyes water and he blinked the tears away. He wanted to tell Dutch to shut up. The man teased him with what he truly wanted, knowing what it was but never bringing it to true fruition. It had nothing to do with the mountains or even really heading West. He was familiar with this bait; he had fallen for it countless times in the past. He would get small glimpses of love from the man only to be pushed away. He stroked him faster, setting his mind to the physical aspect instead of the ache in his chest. 

It didn't take long before Dutch was spent from a touch other than his own and Arthur was near sulking at the wash of emotion that had come over him. Dutch's hand was buried in his hair, affectionately stroking and petting him as he always did. Despite all the anger that had risen, Arthur missed the taste of the man, yearning for it even. He licked him clean, feeling the hand in his hair gently massage his scalp in appreciation. He still tasted as good as always. Arthur grew angry at himself, disgusted by how he wanted to forget everything and just believe the man. He stood and Dutch grabbed his hips, “Let me finish you.”

Arthur swallowed, the desire to comply being overpowered at the irritation of being lied to just as the man lied to Molly, leaving him soft and itching to get away. Arthur pulled away from the man’s grasp and disappeared into the small house, “’s fine.”

Dutch gathered himself and followed the man into the cabin. He watched Arthur pack away the bedroll and percolator, all but throwing them on the horse and in the saddle bag. He frowned, unsure how to address the man's strange weather, "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'. Let's go."

"Arthur, what's gotten into you?"

Arthur chuckled to himself as he looked away from Dutch and toward the forest. He shook his head and glanced back at the older man, "I just want to help you relax so you're not rushed into decisions or planning our next move under pressure. I don't want lies, Dutch. Don't tell me I'm a goddamn gift. Don't tell me I'm special or anything like that. Don't lie to me."

"It wasn't...Arthur. I am sorry, son. Those things have never been lies. I'm sorry I couldn't show you the way I should have."

"Just shut up." Arthur climbed on the mount, angry at being played a fool time and time again; Angry at how he wanted so desperately to believe Dutch's pretty words. For someone who spoke so much about loyalty and faith, the man only seemed to be so to his own desires.

* * *

“You sure you’re feelin' better?” Arthur reiterated for the umpteenth time as they crossed back over the Dakota to avoid trees that had been uprooted due to the saturated soil from the previous rains.

“Positive. Stop asking.” 

Arthur laughed to himself as he gave the beast a slight kick to set into a trot. His mood had lightened from the ride and scenery. After a while they stopped to make a fire and cooked the venison. Arthur watched as Dutch downed the second dose of medicine and tended to his wound. He felt guilt tug at his chest as the man silently turned his back to him after settling in his bedroll. The man had been silent since they left the cabin. Arthur had enjoyed the quiet in the beginning but it didn't take long to realize Dutch was lost in his head. There wasn't anything left to say so he didn't bother, trying to drown out the guilt with his irritation over the man's treatment of him; the constant pushing and pulling over the years after the gang was formed and Dutch had to shape himself into something else, someone more authoritative. Dutch was the moon and Arthur was a deep ocean of need, forever bending to his whims.

Arthur watched the tree branches cast shadows that looked like bony fingers over the canvas of the tent. He heard the fire outside crackling as he drifted into unconsciousness. _A snake was slithering through dark wood, the forest painted black. The thing entangled itself, unable to stop it’s course; an ouroboros. No choice could unmake itself. An endless return._

He awoke with all the nerve endings in his body screaming in pleasure, his cock pulsing and enveloped in wet heat. He looked down to see raven black hair as Dutch sucked him eagerly. He wanted to push him off, he wanted to pull him up and kiss him, he wanted to fuck his mouth without mercy. When Dutch realized he was awake, he released him and kissed his way up his body, whispering in his ear, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Dutch had never had a problem issuing apologies. Arthur knew they were worth a penny a dozen, if that, but they sounded sweet in his ear. His breath hitched as the man took him in his hand, kissing and nipping at his jawline. Arthur pressed his mouth against Dutch's. The man always let him make the first move leaving no question that Arthur wanted it, a guise of relinquishing control while still maintaining it.

He ran his hand up Dutch's back and into his hair. He needed to know that persona he put on for the others could still melt away when it was just the two of them, "Take your clothes off."

The firelight outside the tent gave just enough light for Arthur to make out the man's features. He sat up on his elbows, eager to watch the older man follow his command. He shrugged off the striped dress shirt and unbuttoned the top half of his union suit, pulling his arms free. Arthur’s eyes eagerly drank in the sight of Dutch’s bare chest and the dark hair that lightly dusted over his upper chest, gathering in a dark line that ran down his sternum and spread across his lower belling and into his pubic region that was still covered by his black pants, where his erection pressed against the seam of the crotch. He felt like he was in that hotel room again from years ago, but this time he was in control. Perhaps he had been then too, he just hadn’t realized it. He licked his lips, “Your pants too.”

Dutch complied, pushing down the trousers along with the bottom half of the union suit. He felt the full weight of the paradigm shift as he knelt naked in front of the other man. A chill took residence in his spine, anticipation rising. Arthur extended his arm and Dutch pulled him up. Arthur's clothed body pressed against his bare flesh. His cock throbbed as the younger man's rough hands slid down his waist and around his hips to grab his ass firmly. One hand stroked and kneaded his ass while another slid up his back and over his neck before grabbing his dark hair, pulling his head back. Arthur kissed Dutch's exposed Adam’s apple and sucked at the bruise from the other morning, spreading it across his neck as he rolled his hips against him, cock rubbing against Dutch’s. 

He didn't want to be angry any longer. _Men are fallible_. He was no longer blind to the fact that included Dutch. Where he had once been angry with that realization, he now accepted it as part of loving the man, "I forgive you. For everything. Everything you've done, and everything you will do."

"Have more faith in me, please," The words weren’t laced with their normal accusation but were a simple, sad plea. He needed the man to believe in him so desperately and he wasn't sure why. Perhaps because he didn't believe in himself, "Don't leave me."

"I swear if this is all just for show…” Arthur threatened as his heart clenched into a tight fist, emotions raw like an exposed nerve, “I won't keep being made a fool, Dutch. You have to give me something to hold on to."

Dutch shook his head as he took Arthur’s fingers in his mouth, desperate to please the younger man; desperate for him to allow him trespass for his sins. He wanted to tell him he’d end it with Molly, send for a large bed so it was ready when he took him to his tent upon their return, no longer caring what the others thought, not even Hosea. He would give an elocution so divine, on freedom and love. But he knew how that would play out: Arthur would only doubt him further and with good reason. He would laugh at the absurdity of the idea - one Dutch himself had very well reminded him there was no place for, just days ago. Besides, Dutch didn't want to return at all.

Arthur pulled away to undress before kissing him again, hands roaming Dutch's broad chest and slender hips. He pressed against him, rolling their hips together. He felt Dutch moan into his mouth before ducking his head into his shoulder. His heart melted from the intimacy of it all and all the emotions that had chiseled their relationship into its shape over the years: love, admiration, desire, shame, jealousy, loyalty, vitriol, the feeling of being home. He brushed a lock of Dutch's hair behind his ear and hooked his finger around the man's chin, pulling his face toward him, “Tell me what happened with Micah.”

"Arthur -"

"No, tell me." Arthur growled, "Give me something. Doesn't have to be all of it. Just needs to be something and needs to be _true_."

"I...I-I'm sorry....All this you helped me create - I am grateful, Arthur - so grateful but..." Dutch looked upward, unable to maintain eye contact with the other man, the words barely existing on his lips as a quiet whisper, “I don’t want the responsibility of it anymore.”

Arthur pulled the man to him, defying normal convention of their relationship; the whole situation surreal and uncomfortably intimate. He forced himself through it, reminding himself this was what he had asked for. He felt sick with the weight of the confession - like he should have known, should have said something, should have offered more comfort, "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"I've known you for twenty years, Arthur. You are loyal - I know that…to me, to this gang. I didn't want to make you choose...all that time wasted." The bitter truth choked him as Arthur’s thumb caressed his cheek, "I'm a fool, Arthur."

"Shhh. 's alright. If you had told me the toll this was takin' on you...Hosea and I...we coulda helped. Dutch, I would never want you to shoulder that alone. We'll speak with Hosea and figure something out. He'll know what to do." Arthur pulled the man down to the bedroll and held him there, both of them naked and exposed physically and emotionally. He buried his face in Dutch’s hair, the scent of tobacco calming his nerves as the man’s grip loosened, claimed by the repose of sleep. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Floof and smoot and minor (?) character death

They had passed Bacchus Station early that morning and were now in the East Grizzlies proper. Arthur's eyes waivered from the trail as he rode behind Dutch, watching the man's waist and hips shift with the motion of his horse. He was too lost in fantasy to pay much attention to their surroundings.

"What's this?" Dutch pulled the reins and brought The Count to an abrupt stop. 

Arthur brisseled briefly, his eyes darting away from Dutch’s backside before realizing he was referring to a wagon. It sat at the edge of a long dirt path that was obscured from the road. They left the horses in the wood to continue into the treeline on foot, loosely following the path from a distance. 

A mile from the main road sat a small but comfortable family estate. It sat by a cliff edge overlooking Ambarino and toward New Hanover. A family was boarding up the place for a long trip. This was it. 

"Do we have to go, pa?" A young boy fussed as he carried a box of good up the trail with his mother beside him.

"Don't start again! Your aunt is on her deathbed, for Christ's sake! This is our last chance to see her! We will be back in a month - if she makes it that long, lord willing."

"Mind your mother, boy. It's a long trip to Rhodes. Let's get moving." The man finished hammering the last board in place and stored the toolbox in a nearby shed. 

They waited for the family to leave before pulling apart the boards. The home was more than comfortable with an adorned mantle and large ornate tub. There was plenty of canned and dry goods in the home’s commodus pantry as well as a wealth of game in the surrounding forest. Arthur was happy with the seclusion of the woods and the views from the cliffside while Dutch was interested in the trading post to the North which was frequented by fur traders and gem miners. 

They brought in kindling and started a fire in the main fireplace and the one in the master bedroom to bite back the chill in the air. Arthur sat at the dining table, across from the man, picking up the cup Dutch had left for him. Then he saw it, hanging on the wall by the table, a rendition of a medieval painting of a dragon eating its own tail. The self consuming serpant. Dutch looked up from the newspaper in his hands, watching Arthur regard the artwork. 

He felt Dutch’s gaze on him and felt the need to explain himself, “I remember reading somethin' about it - or maybe you read it to me - Hell, I don’t remember, but...there’s somethin' about it…”

“Greek, I think - originally. Or maybe Egyptian...or African. It’s made its way around the world. The vikings inscribed it on jewelry and ships. It graces engravings and artwork from ancient China."

"What's it mean?"

"The beginning and end. Infinity. It has several interpretations...Perfection. Polarities of the soul. The union of opposites. Heaven and Earth in balance...self-devouring thoughts or actions...” Dutch cast his eyes downward and tried to push the final thought from his head as he looked back at the paper.

“Hm,” Arthur hummed, keeping his eyes on the piece as he opened the french doors of the kitchen to the back of the house. The sunset was breathtaking. _Heaven and Earth in balance_. Perhaps the dream wasn’t some dark omen or warning about his relationship with Dutch as a self devouring etymology on blind loyalty. He glanced back at the man and caught him staring from the doorway. 

Arthur smiled at him and Dutch felt his heart swell, pushing his legs forward to join him by the cliff. They sat together near the cliff edge and drank their coffee as the sun set, their hands resting on each other’s knees, the world cast warm hues of rose gold.

When the sun dipped down so did the temperature. The fireflies didn't seem to mind, dancing in the twilight. Dutch's arm tightened around Arthur's side and pulled him closer, “Let’s go and warm up, hm?”

“Sure,” Arthur said in his heavy drawl as he stood and extended his hand to Dutch, pulling him up. Dutch’s grip tightened on his hand to stop him from turning around.

“Thank you, son...For last night. I…” He wasn’t sure how to say Arthur reeled him in from the raging sea of self doubt and self hatred he was drowning in, "Thank you."

“Don’t mention it,” Arthur squeezed Dutch’s shoulder, knowing exactly how grateful he was for once. He didn’t need a grandiose statement. He decided to make light of the situation and give the man some emotional relief, “’m here. Always...Now, there’s somethin' else here right now and it’s been callin' my name since I first laid eyes on it. Shall we?”

“After you,” Dutch’s voice was light as he gestured toward the home. Arthur dusted himself up and held out his hand to help the other man up. He kept his hand in Dutch’s, leading him to the bedroom. It was rare that he had a chance to lay in a comfortable bed and he was going to take advantage of it.

He watched Dutch dress down to his union suit, studying the lines around his eyes as the firelight cast a warm glow over his skin. He had noticed them before as they grew older but he had never really looked at them. They were smile lines, mostly gathered from faking the little expressions during a con but some were gained genuinely. More so, he noticed how tired the man was and resolved to just let him sleep.

A deafening crack of thunder shook the house on it's frame and a flash of lightning lit the room. Arthur shot up in bed, at first worried they were being shot at and then terrified one of the many surrounding trees would fall on the house and crush them. He could see the headline now: "Infamous outlaw, Dutch van der Linde, and henchman Arthur Morgan, killed in thunderstorm while sharing a bed. Sodomy added to the pair’s long list of crimes." As he settled back into the bed, another sharp burst of thunder rumbled through the bones of the house and lighting struck just outside.

Dutch's arm came around him and pulled him against him. The man's facial hair brushed his neck as the man buried his face there, mumbling through the haze of sleep, "It's alright. I've got you, son."

It did bring him comfort, as nonsensical that it was to think Dutch could keep him safe from an act of nature. Another loud crack and Dutch pulled him closer, all but spooning him. The storm quickly rolled into the distance and Arthur felt his body settle against Dutch's, winding down from the dread that had taken root in his chest. It felt nice to have the man so close. Dutch's thumb made small, comforting strokes on his arm and the side of his stomach as Arthur fell back to sleep.

* * *

Golden spools of morning light streamed through the canopy shading the cabin. Arthur finished brushing his horse as he saw Dutch come down the trail to the cabin.

"How'd you get on?" Arthur watched the man dismount and tether The Count. He had headed to a nearby trading post several hours ago. Part of Arthur wondered if he would come back at all now that he knew how the pressure was affecting him. Another part of him now felt they were more bonded through their newfound intimacy, even more than they were with twenty years of history between them.

"Fine." Dutch handed the younger man a canteen of water from his saddlebag, "Met a strange duo on the trail."

"Anything interestin'?"

"No. Didn't seem so. I avoided them mostly."

Arthur nodded, taking a drink from the canteen before handing it back to Dutch, "Have you thought any more on our previous conversation? 'bout Micah? I'd still like to take care of it."

"I knew you were waiting to ask.” Dutch looked at him in a way that a father regarded an annoying child that wouldn’t stop asking for a toy, “I can't just kill him."

"You can, Dutch. I've done it time and time for you, no questions asked." Arthur's voice was a deep growl, anger rising. If not for Micah Bell, Blackwater wouldn’t have happened. If not for Micah, they could be out West together on their own little ranch; the one Dutch had promised as their end game.

"He's one of us. Do you think I could ever have someone dispose of you?"

"I hope you're not comparin' me to him," He was near the breaking point, "You really gonna tell me that you care for _Micah_ the same as you do me? I don't even want an answer."

Arthur turned toward his horse, needing to get away before his rage got the best of him. When Dutch's hand grabbed his wrist firmly, he was ready to turn back and punch him but one quick word stopped him.

"Alright." 

It was short but sounded sure yet pleading at the same time.

"Alright?"

"If you're this adamant - if you want me to choose - _of course_ I choose you, Arthur." 

"Thank you."

" _Always_ , Arthur." 

He wanted to say he was sorry for everything he had ever put Arthur through; leading on this path, for not confiding in him, not choosing him every time, for letting his insecurities and self doubts consume him. But the man seemed content in the here and now and he just wanted to give him some peace.

* * *

The afternoon sun brought welcome warmth to the spring chill. The robins and larks gave a subtle melody to the surrounding wood. Dutch sat against a tree, reading a book as Arthur chopped wood for the fireplace. Dutch found his gaze drifting from the book, distracted as he always was when he'd spot Arthur carrying hay bales or cutting wood. This time, when Arthur noticed he didn't look away for worry of someone seeing the way they looked at each other. 

Arthur felt the same urge he always did when he found the man's gaze on him in camp. Here he was free to act on it, with only the birds around to observe their sins. He finished the chore at hand, aware of Dutch's lingering gaze. He placed the ax in it's rightful spot by the shed and made his way to the man. Dutch smiled at him, closing the book. He began to offer a greeting but Arthur knelt by him, capturing his lips in a sudden kiss that took him by surprise. Arthur straddled the man's lap and smiled as he felt the man's hands squeeze his ass. 

The sound of the horses whinnying broke the moment. Arthur pulled himself away from the man, standing and approaching the beasts. He spotted a young fawn watching the horses in interest, trying to approach them. 

"Hi there, feller. You are a tiny thing. Hello. I ain’t gonna hurt you." He spoke softly, trying not to scare the creature off. He heard Dutch behind him and looked over his shoulder to see the man observing him. He turned back to the fawn, making eye contact with it. He saw a doe in the distance and in a flash of fur in front of him as the small creature sprinted off to it's mother with less grace than it's adult species were known for. 

He looked back to see Dutch watching him, shifting his weight as Arthur approached.

"Where were we?" Dutch's voice was comfortable and heavy with desire. It made Arthur feel daring and flirtatious, always following his lead.

"Y'know what I've always enjoyed, Dutch?" He watched the man raise a brow, waiting for him to continue, "Watching you ride. I think about you stradling me...what you'd look like..."

“I suppose there’s no time like the present to find out,” Dutch laughed at Arthur's attempt at dirty talk, amused and aroused all the same. The younger man kissed him, backing him against the wall of the cabin. Dutch ran his hands over Arthur's strong forearms and the subtle but impressive muscles of his shoulders. Arthur felt his cock twitch and press uncomfortably against his pants. The look was new but Arthur knew in that moment what the other man wanted. He lifted Dutch, pressing him against the wall as his tongue explored his mouth. He rolled his hips against Dutch and felt the man's hands grabbing and twisting at his shirt, "Let's stay here. You and me. _This_ is all that matters, Arthur. I feel...I feel like the walls are closing in on us - it won't stop. I should have taken us West."

"Doesn't matter now. West, East, North, South. I'll follow you to the end of the Earth." Arthur captured the man's mouth again, grinding against him at a steady pace. He liked this; sharing dominance. It was new and felt like a more intense level of intimacy. Dutch had instilled more trust in him. He truly felt free; able to take what he wanted when he wanted it without having to wait til the camp lanterns were put out. He wanted to ask about the rest of their family but he allowed himself to enjoy the moment. He let his hand disappear in Dutch's dark curls as he kissed him deeper. The older man pulled him closer, overwhelming him with his scent and the feel of their bodies pressed together; of being desired. Arthur lost all of his inhibitions, "I'll love you to the end of the Earth."

"Arthur...I -"

"You two busy? I can come back later…"

Arthur felt Dutch's hands on his shirt loosened their grip. The sound of Micah's voice sent a sudden rage through Arthur. The man was an incessant fever blister. Arthur lowered Dutch and watched him close his eyes, thudding his head against the wall. In their fifteen or so years of sneaking around together, they hadn't been caught. Of course it would be Micah that ruined it. Arthur looked over at the unwelcome party, hatred seething from his glare. Micah was leaning on the horse tack of his saddle and leering at them, a grin stretching his ugly face and distorting it into something even more heinous.

"Why are you here?" Dutch's tone was guarded and tense. Arthur watched him for any slight indication to shoot the bastard.

"Just checking in. Don't bother saying it ain't what it looks like, cowpoke. Not much else it could be. And those professions of love - be still my fucking heart!" The man burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, his eyes moving from Arthur to Dutch, "You hurt your leg boss? Arthur here just fell into your face?"

"...I trust we can count on your discretion." 

Arthur watched Dutch. He was tense and Arthur could tell he was ready to shoot the man as needed. As horrid as Micah was, he had never directly spoken a hint of disrespect toward Dutch and now that he had dirt on the man, he was showing his colors.

"I gotta hand it to you, boss - I knew Morgan here was a cocksucker, could just feel it. But you? That's a real surprise. Although I guess it shouldn't be - what with that hard on you have for that writer." 

As Micah dismounted his horse, Arthur slowly reached for his gun, stopping when he felt Dutch's hand tighten on his forearm along with the heat of his glare before he looked back at Micah.

"And wanting to take little Arthur away to that little ranch...I thought it was because yous was family - being together so long - but no. Apparently not. It just warms my heart! Of course I can be discreet, Dutch. As long as you share." Micah sneered as he nodded to Arthur.

"That's out of the question." Dutch's hand was on one of his pistols. Arthur could feel the anger rolling off him.

"I don't think you really get to make a call here given the circumstances. Oh, I have thought about this for some time. On your knees, cowpoke. Maybe I'll fuck that man gash of yours too," Micah stalked over and grabbed the back of Arthur's head, but then turned his attention to Dutch when he saw the man draw his gun, "Or should I be fucking you, Dutch? All that shit about your daddy dyin' in the war - that why you surround yourself with all these big strong men like Morgan here? Lookin' for a daddy, to protect you - _take care_ of you, Dutch?"

The man's grip loosened and Arthur saw a flash of black as he headbutted Micah, knocking the bastard to the ground. He felt Dutch's hand on his shoulder as the older man stepped in front of him. Dutch aimed his pistol at the snake as he began to get up. Arthur smiled as Micah retracted, holding his hands up and crooking his spine to make himself smaller. 

"We have a deal, Dutch." Arthur wondered if Micah realized how unconvincing and slimy he sounded as he hissed the words. Joy sprang in his heart as he heard the hammer of Dutch's gun click into place, "You son of a bitch! Arthur - ask him ab-"

The gunshot reverberated through the surrounding woods. Arthur watched blood squirt from the wound in Micah's head and he felt at ease for the first time in a while. Without a word, Dutch turned and left him standing by Micah's body.

Arthur entered the cabin and saw Dutch sitting by the fire. He leaned against the doorway, waiting for the other man to speak, not wanting to ask the obvious question.

"Micah knew...He knew I wasn't planning to get them all out - there's not enough time to buy all of our freedom...I don't know if that's even possible. There's enough for us - you, me, and Hosea. Please don't hate me, son. I do love you so very much - though I haven't made the best case for it."

He certainly hadn’t.

"So you were just gonna abandon everyone else? John - his family - the women, Charles -" Arthur heard his voice boom through the cabin like a loud crack of thunder. He stopped himself when he saw Dutch's dark eyes blur.

"I can't keep pretending it is realistic to stick together. We will all split up and we will leave, hoping the best for everyone else. Or we will all die.”

Arthur could see this wasn't ideal for Dutch. He was responsible for every last person in camp and if something didn't happen soon, he would be responsible for all their deaths. It was what had been driving him insane this whole time, even before Black Water. Splitting up was the only way from keeping them off the gallows together. He didn't envy the weight on his shoulders but he did want to help remove some of it. He pushed off the door frame and walked over to him. Dutch looked up at him, relaxing against the back of the chair, but still guarded. Arthur carefully placed his hand on Dutch's shoulder, softly squeezing, "I understand."

"Thank you, son." Dutch took Arthur's hand, pressing it against his cheek. Arthur saw the man's chest move, releasing a breath he had been holding. Arthur felt his heart swell and he straddled the man's lap, kissing him. Dutch pulled away, still holding his hand and squeezing it in his. His mind racing. He needed a distraction, "Do you still want to continue where we left off? I'd like it very much if you bedded me..."

“Yes but you...if this is just so I trust you, 's not needed,” Arthur's body reacted to Dutch's forward proposal. He watched the older man take his fingers in his mouth. This was paradise. He was tempted to tell Dutch he wanted to just stay here with him. He didn't want to return to camp and give way to the chance of things running afoul. He didn't want to share Dutch with Molly. He wanted to be selfish. Arthur climbed off him and pulled him up from the chair. Dutch grunted, feeling his stomach flip as Arthur picked him up again. He could tell the younger man was enjoying himself, feeling masculine with his mentors legs wrapped around his waist. He felt ridiculous but let Arthur enjoy it as he carried him to the bedroom and laid him down, toppling over him.

"You sure 'bout this?" Arthur watched Dutch's face for any indication of second thoughts as he pulled off the man's boots. He quickly shrugged off his own shirt and began fumbling with his pants, “I want it, I do - Lord knows how I want it, but...’m happy to be on the other end.”

"I have wanted this for some time, son." Dutch assured. As a demonstration, he bent his legs and ran his hand over his manhood to gently brush his fingers over his entrance. 

Arthur bit his lip. It felt sacred to see Dutch in such a position. He knelt over him, planting his knees firmly on the mattress on each side of the Dutch's slender hips. Arthur leaned toward the nightstand, nearly ripping out the drawer as he rummaged through, his heart sang when he found a bottle of repurposed olive oil. He quickly slicked his fingers and traced Dutch's entrance, feeling himself shudder; it was like touching some holy relic. He pressed to the first knuckle, watching Dutch shift on the bed, pressing his hips down into the mattress. He was ridiculously tight.

"Have you ever…"

"No. Don't stop." Arthur watched in fascination as the man shifted his hips, pressing down on his finger. Dutch Van der Linde was laid out before him, wanting him so bad he was fucking himself, cock heavy and leaking on his stomach, precum glistening on the dark hair covering his skin, "Don't stop. Fuck me, Arthur."

"Dutch...I wanna - but I don't wanna hurt you." 

Before he could protest further, Dutch pressed his mouth to the man's. Arthur ran his other hand up Dutch's thigh and caressed his hip with his thumb. He slowly pressed in another finger, watching Dutch suck in a sharp breath as his back arched. Arthur pressed his hips into the bed for friction, his cock throbbing with need. 

"Dutch…” Arthur kissed his jawline, "This will be more comfortable if you turn over."

"No...No...I want to see you," Dutch reached up, letting his fingers brush against gold flecked stubble. Arthur turned his head, kissing the man's fingertips as he pulled Dutch's hips toward him, lining him up. 

As he breached him, he took dark delight in the way Dutch arched his back and bit down on his lip, trying his damnedest not to tense up. Arthur ran his hand over his stomach and down to his cock, slowly pumping it as he inched further inside.

"I love you," The words were choked out as he fought the overwhelming wave of emotions threatening to drown him as he ushered those words. It was not some coital phrase meant to be pretty or to fit the moment; it had been true for years, as much as he tried to bury it or run from it, it had always been true, "I love you, Arthur."

Dutch watched Arthur through half fluttered lashes, the boy's head lulled back in pleasure as he stretched him out, sinking himself completely inside. It was perfect; the burn, the stretch, the fullness, Arthur. And then Arthur slowly pulled out just enough for the curve of his thick cock to drag against that sensitive little spot and Dutch was a quivering mess, "A-Arthur!"

Arthur watched the way Dutch's cock jerked with each stroke against the little pleasure pit. His dark eyes were now squeezed shut, overwhelmed. Arthur ran his large hands up the man's sides, letting him feel possessed. He cupped his face.

"Look at me, Dutch." He leaned in again, putting pressure on the same spot. Dutch moaned on his thumb as he pressed it past his lips, opening his mouth just for him, "I love you too. 'm yours - always will be.”

Dutch nodded eagerly to tell not only Arthur but himself that he accepted it as hot tears streaked down the sides of his face. He believed Arthur and it hurt; hurt to know someone he had hurt could still love him so much when he deserved nothing of the sort. 

Heaven and Earth in balance.

These were the things he wanted Arthur to fill his journal with: love realized, love attained, taking him, and a ranch out in the untamed West away from the oligarchy of civilized society. Where he could watch Arthur tend to livestock and carry milk jugs and hay bales. Where he could have him all to himself all day and night. 

The next morning, Dutch sat at a small desk in the corner of the master bedroom as he occasionally stole glances at Arthur's sleeping form. Peace found him. He addressed an envelope to Tacitus Kilgore in Valentine and penned a letter to Hosea, more hopeful than morose as the last time he had tried. 

_Hosea,_

_My dearest friend, I have not confined all I should in you, out of fear of conflict or worse - disappointment. I do honestly and humbly beg your forgiveness. Arthur and I are currently in the East Grizzlies. My friend, I do not plan to return. Feel free to take the reins or dissolve the famiy entirely - I trust more in your decision than I have in my own as of late._

_I will send someone to collect the Blackwater money and have it delivered to you, less the amount Arthur and I will use to head West and build a homestead. More information will be sent when we are established. You are welcome to join us, to live or to visit. I have had a glimpse of this life with our boy and I cannot turn away._

_I know you've always had your suspicions but I need you to know my intentions with Arthur are true and will remain so._

_\- Your friend, if you will continue to have me as such_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended for this to be an AU where our boys communicate and find comfort in one another. But "things are never how we intend or invent". 
> 
> This chapter was two condensed down into one. I had intended to write about Dutch and Arthur deciding to head West together and build that little ranch...BUT, I felt that would spiral out of control into many chapters of fluff and filler. And though I love reading those things by others and flowery prose (God, I love flowery prose), but I'm a tech writer and that occupation has lead me to "get the fuck on with it" when regarding my own work. 
> 
> So, if you want a happy ending for these two, I IMPLORE you to end your reading at this chapter. 
> 
> The next and final chapter to come is completely optional and a bit of a gut punch, where my mind was like yes, you INTENDED to make this a happy ending but what if you just DIDN'T? How about that?? 
> 
> I thought about reworking the whole fic into Dutch's pov to make more sense with the newly decided ending, but let's be honest, I'm lazy. I will likely rework it at a later time and post it as one long piece.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wanna know I've left the great divide - I wanna know what I've become. You think that no one else is lonesome - you think that you're the only one? I swear it's like dying to catch a ghost. It's like trying to hold smoke. It feels like I'm jumping towards a train. Well I'm trying to find a way. 
> 
> We never are what we intend, or invent. I make little lies and then I pull them apart - think something dark's living down in my heart. And if I wanted to die before I got old, I should've started some years ago digging that hole. 
> 
> We spoke about the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost and which songs we had loved the most, and then we all turned to dirt, and dust. 
> 
> Some men die under the mountain just looking for gold, some die looking for a hand to hold. Now I'm drowning in the flood I made."
> 
> \- Gasoline and At the Bottom by Brand New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Immense grief and suicide
> 
> This chapter was to follow a non-con chapter taking place following the in-game narrative at Beaver Hollow (as hinted by Arthur's journal entry below), but I didn't have it in me to put y'all through that.

Ouroboros.

No choice can unmake itself.

No matter how he wished the past could be changed, no matter how he reinvented the past events in his mind, the present remained the same. Hosea was dead. Arthur was dead. He had disappointed those who mattered most to him. There was no changing his mistakes. He couldn't change the narrative he had carelessly orchestrated. The gift of hindsight was insidious and cruel. 

When the Earth claimed Arthur, it swallowed up a huge piece of Dutch with him.

The first year after everything fell apart had been the most difficult. He headed West to escape the ghosts that haunted him through out Ambarino, New Hanover, and Lemoyne. He fell into the bottle and barely pulled himself out. He grieved hard and it never stopped, he just became accustomed to it.

He constantly wondered how different things would be if he had disclosed a little more, shown a little more vulnerability. They could have taken the trip he often daydreamed about when he was alone, hands shaking as he drank too much coffee or whiskey, grief still raw even after all these years. He imagined at least twenty romanticized paths he could have taken over the heinous one he had spiraled down. 

Micah had seen his vulnerability and taken no heed in giving him privacy with it; encouraging and provoking every wrongful suspicion or hastily made plan. Micah found and cultivated every seed of self-doubt he had tried to keep buried for so long. And he had been a fool to not recognize what was happening; too swallowed up in mistrust, anxiety, and foreboding doubts; selfishly hurt that Arthur didn't offer him comfort. Inundated by responsibility to so many people. 

He remembered being utterly consumed by the demons in his mind by the time he reached Lagras; his grief over Hosea's death still an open wound and Micah's whisperings of John's betrayal infecting that wound.

In the insanity that plagued him in Beaver Hollow, he pulled further and further from Arthur upon seeing his condition. He couldn't stand the thought of him dying and the suffocating guilt and sorrow it wreaked. _That's what you get for loving something too much._ So he pushed him away, finally let his insanity make Arthur a traitor so he could numb the pain of his loss, of the loss of the entire gang. 

_"Never leave love aside, Arthur."_

But he had done just that to avoid the pain associated with the pending loss; and now he feared that pain was magnified by those exact actions he had taken to avoid it. For all his philosophy on humanity and their gang's anthropic good, he had defiled and destroyed it all in the end. Even that night outside of Bronte's, head hung low as he plotted his revenge, fully aware of his hypocrisy, he persisted, needing to feel in control of something - even if it was his own moral degradation. 

_That's what you get for loving something too much. That's what you get for loving something too much. That's what you get for loving something too much._

Now he stood facing John and all his regret in the biting cold ontop Mount Hagen. 

"Arthur loved you," John held out the worn journal. Dutch took the leatherbound book in silence, offering no comment to the younger man as he made his way to his horse, not turning as John called after him, "He's buried in the East Grizzlies - north of Bacchus River - not that you care."

* * *

Dutch settled by the foot of Arthur's grave, hesitating for a moment before opening the journal. When he did, he smiled at Arthur's sketches of wildlife, carefully tracing them with his fingertips as if he were defying time and touching the man's hand again. But that hand was now a skeletal appendage, long buried and flesh dissolved.

He forced himself to read over Arthur's final pages for the hundredth time, feeling his heart breaking all over. He pushed through it, knowing it was fitting and deserved; he knew the pain he felt had been much worse for Arthur when he was writing it. The ink was smeared and barely noticeable tear stains were scattered on the weathered pages. 

He found a short inscription meant for him.

_Dutch, start listening to them as really love you._

Then, buried among a few blank pages...

_It hurts to write this but I need to get it out._

_Dutch came to me last night._

_Part of me had been elated. A naive part of me hoped he would express concern; a stupid part hoped he would propose running away together - that he had managed to scrape up enough for the two of us to start over. This gang has been the only family I've known and I love them as such. Many have left. But how I would give everything up to escape all this chaos with him, even knowing full well it was brought by his hand._

_It was all just a show of dominance for the men that remained - Bill, Javier, Micah and two men he brought to camp. I assume another idea put into his head by Micah._

_My heart broke and breaks even more now because of myself. Despite all of it, I still love him and remain here, solely for him. I am a stupid man - I know as much. It doesn't matter. Either he or tuberculosis will be the end of me soon._

Dutch closed the book and traced the worn grooves in the leather cover. He felt his chest tighten as a sob caught in his throat.He hadn't heeded his own advice about never leaving love behind. His boy had loved him up to the end and he had left him to die alone. Twice.

Guilt and regret had eaten away at him over the last eight years. Not only for his decisions and weak mind when the world was closing in, but for ever thinking they could be free. Man would always desire to lord over others, he had even done so while verbally renouncing such behavior. He had sought out angry young men who could be influenced to do his bidding, spoon feeding them shit about equality and freedom. If he had called himself on his own bullshit ideologies perhaps he wouldn't have clung to it so hard and wound up getting those he had cared for most killed. He could have consoled Arthur through his disease. He could have taken him back out West or Australia to slow the progression - no that was more bullshit and wishful thinking. 

He had abandoned reading the newspapers altogether. Every time he picked one up, there was an article about a promising vaccine in France and hope of a cure to come, reminding him of his boy lying on that cliffside. He should have stayed - he beat himself up time and time again. His mind had snapped and he couldn't bear to watch Arthur die in front of him, but he should have sat beside him and held his hand. He was a weak fool - an affirmation that reiterated constantly in his mind and his what-could-have-been fantasies. He should have apologized for everything and told him that he loved him. _I would say you're like a son to me, but you're more than that_. It had been true - it still was. It wasn't some attempt to garner more loyalty. 

He had apologized over Arthur's grave through tears and anger, told him he saw the truth about Micah and he was sorry that he was blind to it when it mattered. He told him he left the Blackwater money to John. The man would put it toward his family and ranch, carrying out the dream he and Arthur once had together. He had told him he was sorry for letting his own self doubts and weaknesses blind him all those years ago - most of all, he was sorry for tarnishing their relationship. 

Arthur had always been special to him. He remembered the crooked, disbelieving smile the man gave him when he told him as much at Horseshoe Overlook. It had been true; Arthur was the culmination of all the good he wanted to accomplish in the world. He had been weak in the face of adversity, failing Arthur and thus himself. He no longer voiced any of it, he had said it all before and though all those nagging feelings and regrets still haunted him, he knew his time for absolution was long past and he had no illusion otherwise.

He opened his satchel, retrieving Federov's _Existence and Oblivion_ , his copies of Miller's books burnt long ago. Arthur had never cared for them anyway. He rested his bare hand on the mound of dirt and began to read to his boy.

* * *

Dutch watched John brace himself. It had been four years since he saw the man on Mount Hagen. John was ready to draw his pistol if needed. It wouldn't be. He had caught wind of John being strong armed into hunting down his former brothers-in-arms for the government and he was now ready to make peace with his end, the metaphorical and physical one.

He tried to cast out those final years from his memory, focusing on the good that had transpired in his life. It had been intended to bring him comfort and warmth, and that it did, but it also brought a dull aching in his heart. He thought back on his younger years, when it was just him, Arthur and Hosea. Hosea would leave to find a lead and Arthur would join him on his bedroll, cot, or a random hotel bed. The younger man would rest his head on his shoulder or in his lap and Dutch would stroke the dark blonde at the nape of his neck while he read aloud to him. He could feel the man's hair on his fingertips now.

"Our time has passed, John."

Dutch backed to the edge of the cliff. He glanced to his left, the memory of Arthur by his side on that cliff in Cumberland Forest haunting him along with all the mistakes he had made during that time. He hoped to see him again shortly. Though he knew if true Hell awaited him, his heart would be doomed to ache for Arthur forever as his punishment. That was true fire and brimstone, as it was on Earth. The familiar feeling of falling he often felt in his dreams, skin tingling and stomach turning, took over as he backed off the ledge. 

He saw Arthur leaning against a hitching post in a golden sun soaked field, smirking at him from under the brim of his hat. A cabin stood nearby. Annabelle held her pregnant belly on the porch, smiling at him with the flower he had placed in her hair the day she died.

It was a glimpse of his savage utopia.

Then nothing.


End file.
